But she had. She had felt it there, in the memory. The listening dark pressing from all sides, like blades wrapped in velvet, as she ran and begged.
help me hide
i am the fox
She was shaking. Oh, it was a cruel way to interpret what she had said. What she had thought.
“The Night City made me a fox. It helped me hide.” Her voice trembled. “But why did it listen to me? I didn’t mean it.”
The creature grinned. “You were in need. You opened the way with blood. There are rules about these things. The Night City had to listen.”
Blood. The cut on her hand, spilling spatters of red to the cobbles. Jasper’s blood, shining wet on her nails. She had opened the way.
“So I did this. I made the bargain.”
“And when a little mortal makes such a bargain with the Night City, they must pay for what they receive.” The creature fanned its nails luxuriantly. “But so generous is the Night City, it blesses these fortunate ones with immortality, so they may work off their debt. One mere hundred years of service, and they are freed.”
One hundred years. Emma’s throat constricted.
“With still greater kindness, the Night City grants every debtor the freedom to choose: how they may serve, and which of the Lower Houses they shall enter. And so they are sent here, to the Room of Choosing.”
“To you. And your wisdom,” said Emma, trying a smile. It seemed worthwhile to charm the creature. There might yet be some way to turn its friendliness to her advantage, if she could but spot it.
The creature’s eyes crinkled in return. “Indeed.”
“And there is no other way?” Emma wheedled.
“If you had some great talent that pleased the City, it might have taken you into the Court itself instead. Do you?”
Emma had to admit she did not. She even managed a rueful laugh.
This seemed to please the creature. “Fear not, little once-a-mortal. I shall steer you aright.”
It drew itself up to its full height and puffed out its chest, clearly ready to perform:
“Debtor, for the City’s payment
You must choose which way is yours.
One joyous gift of beastly raiment,
One servant’s task, one house of four.”
The creature folded its hands modestly. Applause was obviously expected, and Emma did not stint. The creature glowed.
“I wonder, wise one,” Emma ventured. “A ‘gift of beastly raiment,’ you said. So when I choose, I transform? Into a beast. A certain beast for each ‘house,’” she said, watching the creature’sface. It seemed to be willing her along. “Do I stay that way? As an animal?”
“Raiment”—the creature eyed her significantly—“is something that may be put on and taken off at will. But I cannot say more.”
“I already was a beast,” said Emma. “But I didn’t get to take it off.”
“Yes.” It tilted its head to study her. “You have already worn another skin. Which makes you strange, you know. None of the other once-a-mortals here have been like you. Their bargains asked for wealth or freedom or beauty. They came to this room weeping, the bodies they were born with all they had ever known. They could not imagine the joys of a new form.” Emma thought she heard warmth enter the scraping voice. “But you—you alone asked for transformation as your gift. A year and a day in another form. A true nightdweller’s choice. As though within, you already belonged among us. Never before has it happened this way.”
“Belonged?” Was that true? Had there always been some part of her that beat with the pulse of the Night City?
“Night is the time of change, little once-a-mortal. Daylight fixes the world in place. To be seen is to be trapped in another’s eye, is it not? Known only as the shape they perceive. But unseen in darkness, things are free to shift. And so darkness reveals the true nature of things.”
“What does that make my true nature, then? A fox?”
