Duncan turned to me but I couldn’t make out his face in the dark. “It’s one of the oldest forms of magic,” he said. He twirled his hand in the air and suddenly the dark night was full of luminous pictures revolving around us like a magic lantern show. Herds of painted deer, horses and horned cattle galloped around us, so lifelike I heard their hooves hammering the night air and smelled their musk. One figure among them reared up taller than the rest: a two-legged creature wearing a horned mask. I recognized the figure as a painting from a cave in France that was sometimes called the Sorcerer of Trois Freres. It was believed to represent a shaman wearing an animal mask, but as it spun around me I sensed that the creature it represented was neither wholly human nor animal, but a creature caught in the moment of transforming from one to the other.

“No one knows whether the fey taught humans how to transform themselves into animals or if it was the other way around. Some believe it is a magic older than fey or witch – that it’s animal magic. By reverting to a primitive form you may be able to unlock whatever is blocking your magic. But first you must contact that primitive self.”

Duncan held up his hand and a breeze stirred the trees, bringing with it the scent of honeysuckle. Now that my eyes were adjusted to the dark, I could make out white and yellow blooms glowing in the woods like fireflies. Duncan twirled his hand in the air and warm, fragrant air twined around me like a silk scarf. He twirled his hand again and the scent in the air sharpened. Something musky rode the air along with the honeysuckle. I took a step closer and saw that the glowing orbs in the woods weren’t all honeysuckle blossoms. Some were eyes. We were being watched. I startled back but Duncan put his arm around me and gripped my shoulders tightly to keep me from moving.

“Look,” he whispered, his lips close to my ear. “Really look.”

I stared into the dark, opening my eyes as wide as they could go. Slowly shapes formed out of the dark – graceful, long-legged shapes. Deer. At first I made out only one – a large beautiful doe, her long neck stretching toward me, her ears tensed forward, one hoof delicately splayed to the side as if poised for flight. Then another appeared by her side, a buck whose antlers I had taken a moment ago for branches … and then another and another. They seemed to be forming out of the dark spaces between the trees – a herd of deer, all still as statues, watching us.

“Are they … regular deer or magical deer?” I wondered.

“What do you think?” Laird asked.