Mirror Bound

I was wearing a women's suit on purpose, for it meant climbing scaffolding and getting hands-on with the frame itself, inspecting and measuring every inch of it. It would take me the whole morning to take the measurements, and the afternoon to compare them to the plans, in which time the builders would work on the ornamentation and carefully unpacking the glass panels.

I took leave of the men, and got my tools and my helmet from the locked compartment in the cabin.

Then I went over to the building site, preparing to climb to the very top of the building. The moment I set foot on the scaffolding, I felt a wave of unease roll over me. It was not sickness, or dizziness, it felt different. As if it came from the outside, not from inside me.

I was not afraid of heights, and not subject to dizzy spells or hysteria, and I would not show the men my momentary discomfort. So I climbed on the scaffolding, ascended to the top and started my measurements. Being busy, the discomfort faded to the background, like an annoying buzz in my ear. It was still there, though, and I kept puzzling what it might be.

For a short moment I was afraid to be pregnant, I did have intercourse multiple times the last two days. But my common sense told me that I could not get pregnant from another species, and besides, as far as I knew one did not feel the effects of a pregnancy within two days. That was impossible. It had to be something else.

Maybe I felt someone using magic close-by, the books I had read mentioned magicians being able to feel others practice the arts. But it lasted for hours already, would a spell take this long to cast? Or maybe someone had cast a spell on a worker, or the building, or my tools?

I dismissed that theory, but not the sense it might have something to do with magic. Maybe the awakening of magic felt this way, like a tooth breaking through. Determined to ask Paul, I filed the thought away and kept measuring and checking doggedly, only stopping once to drink tea during a general break at eleven.

My notebook was filled with numbers, neatly organised according to my own filing system. I had also sketched several parts of the building, noting measurements and construction details in the margins.

I'd thoroughly calculate all these measurements this afternoon, and send the results to the building council. By the time it was nearly one 'o clock, I was done, except for one last set of measurements close to where I had ascended the scaffolding.

After those, I was going to descend at that same point, and go home. But coming closer, the uneasiness hit me again, stronger this time. I took hold of one of the supports until I felt able to stand again, then started to look around for a reason why I should feel this way.

I found I could use the feeling as a lodestone, letting its intensity lead me to a sort of focal point for the feeling, now more like extreme nervousness, a big hand clamping on my insides. The place where it seemed to come to a high point was an intersection of supports for the frame, made of heavy, thick cast iron, supporting part of the building with their strength and weight, bolted to each other with heavy metal bolts.

I ignored my feeling of unease to really carefully measure each beam, comparing the shape to what it should be, checking the joins and the connections. All looked totally in order, all the measurements were fine. But I got a distinct feeling that something was wrong, that this junction was not going to hold up.

A feeling! I was a scientist, not a bloody diviner! I tried my very best to ignore the feeling, to stick to the measurements, but the feeling would not go away. It had to be acknowledged.

So I checked everything again, carefully tapping the metal to hear it resound. Of course my lingering over a part of the construction worried the overseer, and he carefully asked if something was wrong.

I told him honestly: 'All the measurements are correct, the shape is perfect, the joint is strong. Still I get a feeling something is not right in this intersection, but I cannot prove it. A feeling, as if I've studied engineering to follow my instincts.'

He did not look relieved at my denial of my feeling, but rather more worried: 'They say you're the best safety inspector, if you think there is something wrong maybe we should take it apart and make sure. Though the boss is not going to like that, it would set us back the whole afternoon.'

I replied: 'The trouble is, I cannot prove anything, so I cannot stop the build. And I'm not convinced myself, that something is indeed wrong, it is just a feeling. I've learned to rely on facts instead of feelings.'

Still, the overseer was in doubt: 'If that intersection is not sound and we put the weight of the glass on, the whole structure might collapse. Lives may be lost, and a lot of money down the drain.' As if I didn't know that. But I had never relied on instinct, and didn't know what do do now. So I decided to step by the office and ask my own boss before I stopped anything.

Climbing further down until I set foot on the ground again, I once more admired the architecture of this lovely modern building. When the architect joined me I expressed my admiration of his design, and he was very pleased to hear it.

He asked: 'And what did you think of the construction?' I replied, still in doubt if I should mention the feeling to him, since it might influence his opinion of my common sense: 'As beautiful and solid enough for the load it will carry.

It will a magnificent building, a symbol of Victorian ingenuity.' But now the overseer had come after me and said: 'Tell him about your feeling.' I started to deny this but the overseer was adamant: 'Please tell him, lives could be at stake.'

This worried the architect and he asked: 'Was there a problem?' I tried to explain it away: 'I had this uneasy feeling where the ascent of the scaffolding is, and when I came very close, it concentrated in that support over there, the big one. But the shapes and measurements were all normal, and the sound as well. I've never had a feeling like that, maybe it is indigestion.'

And the architect seemed to hope I believed this explanation myself. I promised to complete the calculations this afternoon, and send approval before dark. Then I locked my stuff back up, picked up my notebook and took leave, and went home, not directly, but via the council building where my superior worked.

Chapter 8

It was a good ten minutes walk, but the day was beautiful, the weather was sunny and warm and the green had spread a lot again, it seemed overnight. Leaves appeared on trees, the first spring flowers opened, birds were making a noise.

The council building was large and beautifully designed. I liked to come here, the interior was even more beautiful, white marble and classic style statues. I passed by a lovely patio garden with box hedges and roses, of course not in bloom yet but sprouting fresh green leaves to prove they had survived winter.

I went to the second floor and walked into the office space of my boss, the council building official, Mr Millner. His secretary greeted me, and when I asked her if I could speak to Mr Millner she affirmed and asked if I wanted coffee. I did, they had great coffee there, and I knocked and went into his personal office.

Mr Millner greeted me warmly and asked me to sit down. I did, and we talked of spring and lovely weather for a very short time. The secretary brought us both coffee, how did she do that so quickly? It was fabulous coffee again, and then I asked my question, feeling a bit awkward: 'Mr Millner, I inspected the Glasshouse site this morning, and everything seemed in very good order, all the measurements were perfect, everything was in excellent shape. But...' I hesitated, feeling foolish, certain this would do my reputation no good.

My boss, seeing I felt embarrassed, encouraged me: 'You can tell me, I will not make fun of you or hold this against you. You have an excellent record.' I knew, and I wanted to keep it that way, but the feeling still buzzed me, so I acknowledged it again: 'but one junction at the very base of the building just didn't feel right. It made me uneasy, so much so that I could follow the uneasiness to its centre, a thick column of cast iron supporting at least one quarter of the construction.

I measured everything twice, checked the bolts, nothing was amiss. I feel foolish, I cannot prove anything, but it still feels wrong.'

My boss did indeed not make fun at me or laugh, he thought very seriously about what I had just said. Then he asked: 'It was not dizziness, nausea, something you ate?'

I replied: 'It was not from inside me, the feeling came from the building. I've never had anything like it before, facts have always been good enough for me. I came by to ask you what do with it.' He told me: 'You don't need to do anything except the calculations. If they are correct, send word and we'll let the building go ahead. We cannot justify to stop it on a hunch.'

Relieved, I told him: 'I will, thank you for you advice. I am an engineer, not a diviner, that is why I wanted your opinion.' He shook hands with me and said: 'Always, Miss Thorn, you're a good engineer and your calculations are good enough for me any day. See you soon!'

I left, saying: 'Thanks again, sir, for the advice.' And then I said goodbye to the secretary: 'See you soon, and thanks for the coffee!' And I went home whistling, enjoying the day, looking forward to lunch with Lukas and Paul, and an evening of studying together. But somewhere in the back of my mind, a tiny little buzz still made itself felt.

When I came home, the guys were still in the workshop, both hot and sweaty, and very pleased with themselves. Paul asked: 'Did you have a good day at work?' I replied: 'Kind of, but something weird happened. I'll tell you all over lunch. What have you two been up to?'

Now Lukas launched himself at me, wrapping his arms around me, kissing me ardently. He felt really solid and warm, and the combination of a warm wet kiss and his musky scent made me look forward to tonight. He was so sweet and cheerful, how could I not love him to bits?

But then Paul looked a bit lost in his own beautiful workshop, and that could not be borne, so when Lukas and me were through with our kiss, I walked over to Paul and greeted him much the same, only not jumping him and not kissing him on the mouth.

I just embraced him intimately and nuzzled his neck again, smelling him as well, his scent as exciting as usual. He did return my embrace but he did not offer to kiss me, not that I'd expected that. But he seemed full of something, and he soon told me: 'We've been working hard, Melissa, starting on a new project together. Lukas has a real feeling for art.' I had a hunch they were not going to tell me what it was till it was finished, so I didn't ask. A hunch. What was it with me?

So I answered: 'I am glad you had a good day together, I wish I could have been with you. And I'm not done yet, I still have some calculations to do.'

Maybe I would find a reason yet for the nagging feeling still riding me, giving me a reason to have that support checked thoroughly. Paul took my broad hint and led us to his apartment, where he had already set a nice table that only needed some food for a perfect lunch.

Lukas apparently already knew where the cellar was and fetched several kinds of cheese, fresh tomatoes, salad, butter and a ham, whilst Paul magicked a freshly baked bread from his oven. Soon we were all sitting down, attacking the excellent food.

And then it was my turn to be interrogated by Paul: 'You mentioned something weird happening?' I told him what had happened, not hiding my chagrin at getting 'hunches' and 'feelings', and also what my boss had said.

Paul wanted to know everything in detail, wanted me to describe the feeling exactly, where I felt it, and whether it tickled, or hurt, and whether it stayed at the same intensity or faded or came in waves. I tried to remember, aided by the buzz I still felt in the back of my mind.

Talking about it, the feeling became stronger, making it easier to describe. I also told him about the lodestone-effect, which seemed to please him a lot. Suddenly I realized that his interest must mean he knew more about what I had felt, and I cried out: 'You know what it is that I felt!'

Paul laughed and said: 'I wondered when you would realize that I was asking about something I was familiar with.' But to me it was important, so I just said: 'Tell me, please!' Not fazed by my seriousness at all, Paul observed: 'You are such a methodical person, you never considered your feeling might be right, did you?'

And indeed, I hadn't, I thought I was going mad or simple. 'It is your magic awakening, Melissa,' Paul said intently, 'apparently you can feel it if materials have weaknesses in them. You feel it as a nagging or buzzing, getting stronger when you approach the flaw itself. That beam really is a danger to the building and everyone involved.

In the future, with training, you'll be able to figure out what the problem is, not just that there is one. And the next stage is to be able to repair the damage with magic, but that is probably at least a decade away for you.'

'How will I be able to practice?' I asked him, 'and how will I convince my boss and the contractors that something is indeed wrong when it doesn't show on the outside?' Paul answered: 'As to the first, you can hone your skills in my forge, I cast pieces all the time, and you can check them for flaws and if you find any, open them up to see if you were right. Then I'll recast the piece and you can check it again.

And with valuable pieces, you can just ask me if you are right, I have the same talent so I usually know. And as to the second question, it is difficult for you cannot prove anything. But once you've been right a few times people will start to believe you, and most people can believe in feelings and hunches without thinking of magic at all, so you'll be safe.'

Contemplating this, I concluded: 'So I cannot do anything about my current case? I'll just have to hope it will not cost too many lives and give me the reputation that my hunches come true?' Here, Paul looked at me intently and said: 'That it what I meant, yes, but maybe it will all work out after all. You can double check your calculations, maybe you'll find something, but I doubt it. I have cast plenty of large pieces, and flaws can be virtually undetectable.'

We left it at that, it was still difficult to keep up a three way conversation, though Lukas had apparently benefited greatly from Paul's books, and from their conversation today, for he could already follow some of Paul's English sentences.

Still, Paul often had to translate to Greek still, or leave Lukas out of the conversation, which of course would only prolong the time it would take for him to learn English. Looking at Lukas I noticed a shadow over his skull, and stroked it with my hand, his hair was growing in fast, he had a distinct stubble all over now. It felt really nice, and apparently not only to me, for Lukas leaned into my stroking like a cat, nearly purring.

'You'll have a nice head of hair in no time,' I told him, 'what did you two do today?' Lukas, still enjoying my caresses, replied: 'First I slept a bit more, then had breakfast and dressed, then went to Paul's, had breakfast again, and we did some English. Then we had tea with pie, then we went to the workshop. I learned to cut metal, weld it without burning my hands, stoke the furnace, feed it oxygen to make it burn hotter, and I helped Paul cast parts for a new work.

Tomorrow we'll see if they worked out, and he's going to show me how to make a new mold for castings. He thinks I may have a talent for sculpting.

As for the hair, it'll never cover my horns, and Paul says no-one here has horns, and they will not accept it if someone has. Do you think so too?' At this he sat up straight and looked at me, no longer wanting to be stroked. I couldn't lie to him, no matter how harsh the truth: 'I'm sorry Lukas, but Paul is right. No human has horns, most people would even harm you for having them, because they would think you were a devil, the embodiment of evil in our main religion. And the hooves would make it worse, he has those too in every picture ever drawn of him.'

Lukas was clearly disheartened by this: 'So that means I'll have to stay inside and see no-one but you two for the rest of my life? I already miss being outdoors, running and swimming, making love in the woods.' I really felt for him, he was still quite happy here but how long could that last?

He needed space, and other friends and yes, other lovers as well. I held out my arms to him and he quickly sat on my lap and rested his head on my shoulder. To make him feel a bit better quickly I gently rubbed the base of his horns, which had the same effect as my stroking his head, only much stronger, for now he closed his eyes and nearly fell asleep.

I was afraid Paul might not like to see us so intimate in his presence, but as I looked at him he showed as much concern about Lukas as I felt. He did seem to be studying Lukas' reaction to my caresses rather intently, but not in jealousy, more with scientific interest, as became clear when he spoke: 'That part of his horns seems very sensitive.'

I replied: 'It is, much more so than just skin.' 'And the rest of the horn?' he asked. Now Lukas showed an interest again, he clearly understood some English already, and he had followed Paul's thought even though Paul hadn't spoken it yet. 'Only the base is alive, the rest can be trimmed like my hoofs,' he said, looking almost hungry, 'if I grow my hair long and wear clothes and shoes I could go outside.'

'How do you know they can be trimmed, and how far could you do it?' I asked, quite shocked at the thought of such a mutilation but not seeing an alternative, 'and would they grow back like a hoof? Lukas leaned back against me and I started caressing the horn-base again.

He gave me a tiny poke and a knowing look, and I realized he was getting too worked up by my ministrations. So I gave the attention to his stubble instead, and felt him relax again. The thought of him cutting off his horns still upset me, and stroking his head relaxed me too.

He didn't seem concerned by the thought, and answered my questions: 'It is only done as punishment in our society, and not often, for we do not often need to punish or be punished. We are a peaceful people.

But I know it can be done, and I have an idea of how far the life in them goes, like with my hoofs. I feel it. And I think they grow back unless one cauterises the wound with a burning iron, which is done in the criminal's case. If one cuts too deeply it leaves a hole in the skull, for skull and horn are fused together from the age of about half a year. Needless to say that could cause horrid infections, sometimes has in the case of accidents involving horns.'

This was gruesome talk. Would Lukas really be prepared to cut off his horns to be able to go outside and live a relatively normal life? It would not make intimacy easier, during love-play his partner would feel the stumps, and there was no way of hiding those elegant hoofs. I hugged him close, upset by this talk of mutilation.

Paul clearly didn't like it either, though he himself had more or less suggested it as a possibility. He said: 'Well for now it wouldn't do any good anyway, for your hair is still way too short to hide anything. So let's talk about something else, let this rest for a while.'

And we did, until I needed to do my work and went to my own apartment. Lukas stayed in Paul's apartment at my request, studying from his books whilst Paul finished some complicated work that he needed to do in total concentration.