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Bolaire growled as he pulled the manifest of the latest shipment of artifacts from his junior archivist’s hand.  He wasn’t mad at the youngster, and he felt a little guilty when the girl shied away.  He made a mental note to apologize to her later, when his ire had cooled a little and he could actually sound sincere.

No, he was pissed at the timing of the shipment.  It wasn’t supposed to get there for another two days, and its arrival now threw off his day.  He was deep in the logistics of moving the Lloy Wing to another, less suitable one, trying to not only make certain that he could get the most important artifacts away and to slowly siphon off the funds he and his small group of provocateurs needed to aid in their attempts to destabilize the Sundered Houses. 

He had so much more on his mind than checking out this wagon load of crates that had just shown up without any warning whatsoever.

The two burly drivers who had accompanied the shipment had already offloaded the four crates and three smaller boxes and had left, so the receiving area was clear of everyone except Archanade employees.  Bolaire glanced at the paperwork; apparently, the crates contained various artifacts that had been scanned for traps and magic; there was a list under each crate what they would need to look out for. 

Bolaire stifled a sigh.  At least his juniors could handle the unpacking of those.

The three smaller boxes were different.  Apparently, one of them held what purported to be a defiled statue of Sylandri, that had been cleared of a rather nasty curse.  That one would take special care; yes, the paperwork claimed the statue was no longer cursed, but Bolaire didn’t want to take any risks.  He’d personally seen an object that had been declared as deactivated come back and cause injury to one of his people. 

In the second box was supposedly the preserved head of an historical figure who had been known as a particularly nasty magic-user.  Bolaire was very familiar with the legends of this person, and honestly, it squicked him a little.  Yes, he might have been a body-snatching sentient mask who had seen a lot in his existence, but there were still people and things that Bolaire considered horrific.  Hrothbart of Bane’s Bridge was one of those people.

The third was yet another statue; this one was of an indeterminate individual carved out of crystal.  There had been a couple of spells detected on it, but they had been dispelled.  Once again, Bolaire would take that with a large grain of salt until he could check that himself.

“All right,” he said, “the crates should be good to unpack.  Take all precautions; you’re familiar with the safety protocols in place, and if you aren’t you’ll most likely learn why we have them.”

There was nods all around. 

Good.

“I want all the smaller objects moved to the main lab, where we can rescan them.  Then, label and store them.”  It wouldn’t do any good to display them, since everything was going to be moved anyway. 

He handed the pages with the inventory of items and the magic that had been found on them to the young woman, Layra, he’d frightened earlier.  “Pull three archivists to help,” he told her, tacitly putting her in charge.  He wasn’t so sure this was an apology or a reward himself, but Bolaire was fairly certain she’d see it as one or the other.  “There’s no rush on this, so take your time.”

“Yes, Curator,” Layra answered, standing a little straighter. 

He glared at her, because that was his default setting when it came to dealing with his juniors.  And, if he acted any differently, there’d be questions regarding his mental fitness. “Well?  What are you waiting for?  Hop to it!”

She jumped, but Bolaire could see the little smile on her face.  “Yes, Curator!”  She motioned to three of the juniors in the room to join her at the crates.

Bolaire shook his head…yes, fondly.  On the whole, his underlings were fairly competent because if they weren’t, they wouldn’t be working for him.  However, showing that fondness would ruin his reputation for being a bitchy asshole.

He did feel bad for those who wouldn’t have positions after whatever Lady Amariya Cormoray had planned.  He would have to see what he could do for them, those that were eventually let go.

If it got that far.  He was doing his best to delay as long as possible.  Hopefully he and his companions could stop things before it came to the actual transfer.

“You two,” he pointed toward Rosadella, then Spiro.  “Let’s get these boxes down to the secure work area.  Reading what these are I don’t trust them to be fully dispelled.”

“Yes, Curator,” Rosadella said respectfully.  She went to the closest one; even though Bolaire was used to the fact that she didn’t have hands anymore and that she was using a magical device to replace them, it was still a little strange to watch something float in the air in front of her. 

Spiro didn’t verbally acknowledge the order, but he did heft another of the boxes.  He was another of Bolaire’s most senior archivists, one that had, so far, managed to escape any sort of injury from a mishandling of artifacts.  He could be a bit of a gossip, but then most junior archivists were.  Bolaire allowed it, as long as it didn’t involve him.

Oh, he was quite certain there were rumors about him.  However, his employees were good enough at keeping them away from his ears. As long as he didn’t hear them, they could have plausible deniability.

Bolaire took his own box, and led the way to the work area.

It was in a well-appointed office/lab.  There was a large work bench covered in runes and sigils, a large light over it so that the entire area would be lit once it was turned on.  Another, smaller, table was nearby, and the three of them set their boxes onto it. 

Bolaire handed the papers over.  “This is what we’re dealing with.”

Spiro looked it over, then whistled.  “Well, fuck a duck.”

Rosadella looked over his shoulder.  “Hrothbart of Bane’s Bridge?” she scoffed.  “Are they serious?”

Bolaire was pleased that they’d both noticed that first.  “We can’t take the risk that the original examination was correct and we truly are dealing with the head of that maniac.  Let’s take that first.”

The unboxing of the skull was awful.  There was nothing left on it, except for several magical sigils carved into the forehead of the macabre thing.  Bolaire let his two assistants take lead on the examination, keeping a constant eye on what they were doing.  He approved of their methods as they worked, first using Detect Magic on the item first to make certain those runes couldn’t be activated then other tests to confirm that the hideous thing was inactive.

Spiro was shaking his head as they finished.  “I don’t think this is Hrothbart’s skull at all.”

“Oh?” Bolaire urged him to continue.  He’d come to that conclusion himself halfway through the examination, but wanted to see how the young man had worked that out.

“First, the bone doesn’t look right.  Here,” he pointed to one of the carved runes, careful not to touch it even with his gloves on, “you can see that the grooves are a different color, lighter than the outside.  I think the skull was artificially aged then the sigils cut into it.  It’s a fake.”

“Very good,” Bolaire congratulated.  “However, that doesn’t mean it isn’t dangerous…”

“True,” Rosadella agreed.  “Someone definitely used it in some sort of ritual.  Looks like they’d tried to summon something, although I don’t recognize that,” she gestured to the middle rune.

“That’s because it’s a particularly sloppy representation of whatever it was they were attempting to summon,” Bolaire lectured.  “I’m pretty certain it was something demonic, but without further research I cannot confirm what it was.  Although it most likely doesn’t matter, as I seriously doubt the summoning worked anyway.”

Spiro wrinkled his nose.  “Amateurs.”

Bolaire snorted.  “Indeed.  Is this ready to be stored then?”

Rosadella nodded.  “It’s safe.  I have to admit, I am a little disappointed that it isn’t Hrothbart’s skull.”

“You’re the only one,” Spiro muttered.

Bolaire had to agree with him on that. According to legend, Hrothbart had been extremely dangerous, and there would have been no telling what sort of power had been within the man’s own skull.  Truly, they’d gotten lucky.

The second object was the sculpture of Sylandri.  Someone had practically destroyed the metal form when they’d desecrated it, twisting whatever power that had been within it into a very powerful curse according to the paperwork.

It, too, was inert.  Bolaire made a note to tell Vaelus about it the next time she was in the city.  She might be interested in taking the statue back to where it belonged.  In the meantime, it could also be stored, away from curious eyes.

To be honest, it gave him a weird feeling, but he figured that was because it had once been consecrated to a Shaper.  Being an artifact that had been created to kill another of Sylandri’s ilk, that only made sense that it would bother him on a deep level.

The third artifact, though…

The moment Rosadella began to lift it from the box it had been stored in, things began to go seriously wrong.

Ever since Rosadella had had her hands replaced by magic, she’d never dropped anything.  She had the surest touch in all the Archanade, including Bolaire himself.  So, when the glittering crystal statue slipped from her grasp, Bolaire was almost startled into stillness.

It didn’t take him but a split second to move, though, spurred on by the reflexes honed by years of working around dangerous magicks. 

He instantly pushed his archivist aside, even as he was reaching for the falling statue.  He thought he might be able to catch it at the last moment…

But just the tips of his gloved fingers touched it, enough to cause it to change course a little.

It still hit the floor, shattering into thousands of crystalline shards.

However, Bolaire didn’t see that.

Instead, intense heat flared through his borrowed body and up into his own form.  Along with it came pain, such as he’d never felt before in his entire existence.  It was as if the mask was twisting in on itself, cracking and splintering, and he couldn’t help the scream of agony as he fell to the floor, although he didn’t feel that impact, so twisted up with whatever was happening to him that it didn’t even register.

Then the terror flooded through him.  What was happening?  Was this death?  Was he dying?  Was he breaking apart?

Was this artifact destroying him?

He thought he heard someone shouting his name. 

Bolaire’s last thought was of Hal.  I love you. I wish I could have stayed with you.

And then things went dark.

**********

Hal sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he pored over the latest financial records for the Round. 

He hated accounting.

Still, the news was really, really good.

“If I’m reading this right,” he said, “we should be breaking even in about six months, and able to pay back our investors within the year…that is, if things keep going the way they are now.”

“That’s fantastic!”  Shadia exclaimed.  She was there as ‘emotional support’, because she knew just how much Hal didn’t care for this part of the business.

Not for the first time, Hal wondered how much it would cost them to hire an accountant.  He was sure that Elodie could refer him to someone.

So far, almost every show they’d performed had been, if not completely sold out, they’d been damned close.  Hal hadn’t expected things to go this well, until word of mouth had spread through Dol-Makjar about the new theater.  Excitement had been high, and the very first performance had been so popular that Hal was considering extending the run if it kept up being that crowded.  It would mean pushing back the next production, but it would be worth it if this level of engagement kept up.

Still, Hal just knew it in his bones that, eventually, those he owed favors to would come calling.  Like the Halovars, who were directly responsible for him being able to take over the Round and make it into something special.  Or, if there were people out there who Thjazi had gone into debt with.  There would come a day when someone would knock on his door, demanding that he make good on something his brother had promised, and Hal would have no choice but to go along with it.

He only hoped that that day would be long in coming.  At least until he and the others could  do something about it.

“Dad?”

Damn, he’d been quiet too long.  Shadia was sharp as a tack, she had to have seen something in his expression that had tipped her off to something being wrong.

He met her eyes.  Yes, she was definitely concerned.  “Sorry, sweetheart.  Just have a lot on my mind.”

“You know I’m not an idiot, right?” she said quietly.  “I know there’s something going on.  You have me staying with Elodie and Hero.  And I’ve seen you hanging out with not only Uncle Bolaire, but Miss Mag’nesson and Lieutenant Nayar a lot lately.  And you look more and more worried than I’ve ever seen you, plus you wear Uncle Thjazi’s sword sometimes.  The only time you’re truly happy is here, when you’re working on the production.”

Hal smiled at her.  “You’ve always been my brilliant daughter.”  He was so very proud of her but, at the same time, was terrified for her.  The last thing he wanted to do was to get her involved in this.  “Can you trust me when I tell you there’s nothing you can do?”

“I’ll always trust you, Dad.  But you have to trust me, too.”

He shook his head sadly.  “You, I trust.  Others…not so much.”

“You’ll let me know if there’s anything I can do?”

Hal was about to answer that when Murray’s voice echoed through his mind.  “Something happened at the Archanade.  Azune and Bolaire are on the way to your house to explain.   They’ll be there soon.”

Hal was on his feet.  “I’m on my way.”  His heart was hammering fit to burst.  What was going on?  Were they all right?  Why his house and not the Seven Stars?

“Dad?” Shadia was staring at him apprehensively.  “You suddenly went pale…and who were you talking to?”

“I just received a message.”  There was no reason to lie to her about that.  “I need to go home.  Can you pass out the pay for the troupe?  You know where it is, and where to record the expenditure.”

“What happened?” she demanded.

“I have no idea.  But I’m going to find out.”

Hal grasped her shoulders lightly, pulling her in for a hug.  He was pretty sure she could feel just how panicked his heartbeat was, but she didn’t ask to come with him.

He kissed the top of her head, grabbed his satchel, and was out the door as fast as his feet would take him, all the while his fertile imagination was throwing all sorts of scenarios up at him as to what could have occurred and who has been involved.

If it was the Archanade, then it had have been Bolaire.  That…terrified him.  Bolaire was his friend, perhaps even more than that.  Yes, Hal knew he was a god-killing artifact on a mortal body, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t he hurt…or worse.

Bad enough that someone had sent for an Arcane Marshal and someone from the Penteveral to investigate. 

Which definitely meant something had happened to Bolaire.

Still, he had to be mobile, right?  Azune could heal, so there was that.  Had it been something more than a bodily injury? 

Or could it have been Azune bringing Bolaire’s physical form home without a body attached to it? 

Hal was very aware that he was starting to panic even more the closer he got to his home.  He hadn’t even realized he’d been running, dodging foot traffic as he made his way, his thoughts a jumble he just couldn’t get into any semblance of calm.  Had he taken Bolaire’s practical immortality for granted? 

No, that couldn’t be it.  Hal thought Murray would have said something if it was bad.  Yes, a lot of powerful artifacts came through the Archanade, but Bolaire was careful.

He’d promised he was always careful.

Please let it not be something horrible.

By the time he’d gotten back to the house, Hal had a stitch in his side and was felt as if he couldn’t breathe.  He was too old for that sort of exertion anymore.  He should have taken a coach, damnit, but he’d been too freaked out by Murray’s message for the idea to have crossed his mind.

Fumbling his key into the lock, Hal threw the door open, noticing that he was alone.  So, he’d beat them there.  Good.  He’d have time to get himself under some appearance of control.  He had to help fix whatever happened, and being a terrified mess wasn’t going to be of aid to anyone.

Just as he thought he was wrestling himself into something close to calm, he heard a coach pull up outside the house.  His heart rate spiked once more, and he found himself standing frozen by the fireplace, suddenly not wanting to see.

The front door opened, and Azune stepped inside first.  He had an arm around a heavily cloaked figure, deep red curls flowing out from under the hood, the face obscured.  The figure grunted a little, stumbling, and Azune loosened his grasp, muttering, “Sorry.”

“Bolaire?” Hal was aware his voice was far too shaky.  “Are you…?”

“Something happened,” Azune murmured.  He maneuvered Bolaire to a seat, helping him get settled.  “It was an artifact.  Murray is back at the Archanade, trying to figure out just what it was.”

A shaky hand rose up out of the confines of the cloak, pushing the hood back, revealing his friend. 

Hal’s knees buckled.  Thankfully he was close enough for Azune to steady him.

“Bolaire?”

**********

Bolaire rose back to consciousness, not at all like he usually did when he’d taken a new body.  It was slow, and painful, as if his entire host body had been beaten into pieces and then put back together haphazardly. 

But that was…not usual at all.  The bodies that Bolaire wore usually had somewhat dulled sensations, and he’d come to be used to that over the years.  This, though, was far too sharp and far too horrible and he was totally unable to ignore it like he always did.

But that wasn’t the only thing that was off.

It felt as if his mind had been shoved into a space that was far too small for it.  There was a dull thumping in his ‘face’, around his eyes, like he was getting a migraine.  Bolaire had never had one of those before; sentient masks tended not to get that sort of thing but he’d seen Hal get one and  had it described to him.  It was uncomfortable and he wanted it gone.

Someone was talking nearby.  His ears were ringing – another weird sensation – so he couldn’t make out who it was.  How long had he been unconscious?  Had someone put  him on a new body, and was that why he was in so much pain?   

He opened his eyes.  Relief flooded through him as Bolaire realized he was still in the Archanade; in fact, he was seated in a chair in the very lab where whatever had happened, had.  So, there was no new host and, in matter of fact, he was with friends: he could just make out Azune standing near the work table, head bent toward Murray, and they were carrying on a conversation which he could now understand.

They were discussing the artifact.

At least his juniors had followed protocol and fetched the help he’d told them to, back when they’d been fresh archivists and he was lecturing on safety.

“Do you know what that bloody artifact did to me?” he groaned. 

Two head snapped around to regard him.  Azune was the first to move, coming to kneel at Bolaire’s feet, eyes very worried.  “How do you feel?” he murmured.

“Like I’ve been put through a metaphorical meat grinder,” Bolaire admitted.  “I don’t…something isn’t right.  What happened?”

“What do you remember?” Murray asked.

Bolaire flinched a little at the loudness of her voice.  It didn’t usually bother him, but the way he was feeling…

She must have noticed. “Sorry,” she apologized, pitching her voice lower.

Bolaire took a deep breath…and even that felt weird.  It was like he was hypersensitive to what this body was doing, and he didn’t like it.

“I remember…Rosadella, she lost her grip on the artifact.  Which shouldn’t have occurred.”

Azune and Murray glanced at each other.

Bolaire was going to ask about that as soon as he settled their apparent curiosity.

“I…tried to catch it, but I missed.  And then…pain.”  He shuddered, remembering that quite vividly.

Wait.

Bolaire had felt himself crack and shatter.

His hands went up…

Azune caught them effortlessly.  “Not yet.”

Bolaire began to panic.

Was he broken?

Did whatever magic that had come out of that crystal damage him?

Bolaire had panicked before.  It was different from the way mortals did, since he didn’t have a body to react the way others did.

But this body was reacting.

He suddenly felt himself unable to breathe.

His vision blurred, then darkened to a single point of sight, and that was Azune’s face.  But even that was gone, and there was a hand between the host’s shoulderblades, pressing his head down between his knees.  From far away, he could hear Murray cursing but it didn’t matter, because he couldn’t draw breath and was this a new way to die because it didn’t feel right and he couldn’t think and everything felt too much –

“Breathe with me,” Azune’s calm voice managed to break through the fear and the unknown sensations and Bolaire tried to follow what his friend was instructing him to do but it was new and painful and terrifying and he hated it more than anything.

“If you don’t breathe you’ll fucking pass out,” Murray’s voice joined Azune’s. 

Pass out?  How was that possible?  What was she talking about?

Bolaire managed to focus on the body he was wearing.  It was wrong, it was off, but he’d always been able to get control before.  He put every bit of willpower he could summon to match what Azune was doing, and eventually his chest stopped aching and his heart stopped racing and he could draw breath properly once more.

“This is wrong,” he gasped, once he was upright again.  “What the bloody fuck happened?”  He needed to know so he could fix it.

Both of them once again glanced at each other, and Bolaire could see the worry for him in their eyes.  Then, Murray produced a mirror from somewhere, handing it over.  “It’s best you see for yourself,” she murmured. 

That…sounded so horribly ominous.

But Bolaire had to know.  If he’d been seriously damaged by whatever spell had hit him, then he’d need to figure out a way to fix himself.

Azune had once attempted a Mending spell.   Perhaps that would work…

Raising the mirror in shaking hands, Bolaire got his first good look at himself since the magical accident.

He dropped the glass.

Luckily, Azune caught it.

He lifted the mirror so Bolaire could see himself.  And it was just as bad as that first, initial, glance had been.

Instead of the greyish white of the mask, of his true self, there was only pale skin.

Oh, he could see that he still resembled himself, in the nose and the chin and the cheeks.  Anyone seeing him would know he was still Bolaire Lathalia, Curator of the Lloy Wing of the Archanade.  This face that stared back at him still carried the same basic structure of himself, of the Mask of the Panto that had been created by the Halflings as a way to write a goddess out of existence.

The eyes, though.  They were human eyes, of a blue so bright they almost glittered in the light from the lamps in the room.  His eyebrows and eyelashes matched his hair – and yes, he tested to see what would happen when he tugged on a wayward lock, and this was real, it was no longer a wig by the way it pulled on the scalp underneath. 

If his mask was changed…

Bolaire immediately began to undo the ties on his doublet, needing to pull it open to see.  He stared down at his chest…it was different from the host he’d been wearing, the same pale shade as his new face, with a sprinkling of reddish hair that looked as if it has always been there.

“No no no no no…”  This couldn’t be happening.  This had to be some sort of trick, or a nightmare, or something equally awful.  How could he be mortal?  He was a creation, a weapon living a life that he’d created for himself, not someone of flesh and blood and bone who’d been born as all mortals were.

“Hey,” Azune said, “it’s going to be all right.”

“How?” Bolaire couldn’t see it ever being all right again. 

“The only sort of magic that could make this sort of change,” Murray chimed in, misinterpreting his query, “is either a True Polymorph or a Wish spell.  I haven’t finished even a cursory examination on the remains of that artifact, but I’m willing to bet my left tit it’s either one or the other.”

“A trap?” Azune asked.

“Don’t think so.”  Murray picked at one of her jeweled teeth absently.  “Whatever it was, it was embedded in that crystal and managed not to be dispelled when it was discovered.”

“Archivist Rosadella said that her hands were dispelled when she picked it up out of its container,” Azune pointed out. 

Oh, so that was how Rosadella managed to drop it…she’d lost her magical hands.  That made more sense to Bolaire than her being clumsy.

“Hm.  Maybe it recharged using the magic from those fancy bracers she uses.  Then it activated when it hit the floor.”

“I…” Bolaire swallowed.  Oh.  That also felt different.  “I managed to touch it when I attempted to catch it.”

“Then whatever spell it was, you affected it before it affected you.”

“But how?” Bolaire could hear the whine in his tone, and figured he deserved to be scared and upset about the whole ‘being turned into a mortal’ thing.  “I didn’t make any sort of actual wish or cast anything.  I wasn’t even aware that anything like that was a part of that fucking thing!”

“Yeah,” Murray said, “but you’ve talked about how much you wanted to have a way of getting around without having to steal bodies.  Maybe…whatever it was picked up on that.  Which would mean it’s more along the lines of a Wish than True Polymorph.”

Bolaire opened his mouth to argue, but realized he couldn’t.  It was true; having to use bodies to preserve his existence was awful.  They were squishy and uncomfortable and it wasn’t fair that he had to take such steps just to survive.

And now, there he was…with his own body.  One that he hadn’t had to steal.  Was that better?  Or worse?

The pain that had wracked this body was easing slightly.  Already one disadvantage: he could physically feel so many more sensations against his skin. 

This was bloody uncomfortable.

But, honestly, he needed more time to think about what had been done to him.  Was it better to be a sentient mask that could be exposed at any time?  Or a mortal, without that sort of secret that depended on others to hide?  Not that he didn’t trust the others – especially Hal, of course – but there was always that chance that something could be given away. 

“Look,” Azune took sympathy on him, “let’s get you out of here.  You need rest and time to settle into your new reality.”

Reality.

Reality could be a real bitch, heavy and weighted and unfriendly to everyone. In that moment, Bolaire wanted reality to fuck off and jump into the River Vrosh.

“All right.”  There wasn’t anything else for it.  He couldn’t stay here, besides he really did want to leave, to get somewhere trusted and private to either fall completely apart or to start dealing with this mess.

“Murray,” Azune said, “can you contact Hal and let him know we’re going to his house?”

At that, Bolaire relaxed…well, as much as he could relax at the moment.  He’d always felt safe in Hal’s home, knew he wouldn’t receive any judgement or simpering or anything like that.  Hal would make him welcome.   He always had.

Still, he couldn’t help but be apprehensive of Hal’s reaction to…this.  How would he take it?  Bolaire wanted to think that Hal wouldn’t freak out too badly, but this was an impossible change.  Their friendship had just barely begun to heal after Bolaire’s secret had been forced out. 

“Do you think you can walk?” Azune asked solicitously.  “I know you said you’re always a bit unsteady after a new body…”

“I won’t know until I try.”  This situation was quite a bit different than any other time he’d had to find a new host, and he honestly didn’t know how this was going to go.

Azune held out an arm.  Bolaire eyed it suspiciously.  His friend rolled his eyes.  “Just in case you need a little support.”

What he wasn’t saying was that he was giving Bolaire the option, because he understood how much Bolaire didn’t care to be touched – except for the mask, he’d rather enjoyed that – and didn’t want to assume anything. 

Bolaire was pitifully grateful for that. His sensitivity might have been calming down a bit, or he was getting used to it, but there was still that slightly ill feeling at the notion of being touched even if it was by a friend.

His legs were indeed unsteady, but not like new body unsteady.  Bolaire couldn’t tell what it meant…perhaps because they were literally new?  He’d been a little afraid to question just what this new form was made from, if it was from the mask or the host he’d been wearing at the time…or a combination of both. 

Bolaire found himself not wanting to think about this just yet.

He had no choice but to accept Azune’s arm, he simply couldn’t walk steadily enough to move without help.  His friend kept in step, going at Bolaire’s pace, a calm presence at this side. 

Bolaire wanted to sigh, but all that did was remind him that those were his lungs now.   They didn’t belong to whatever host he’d chosen for himself.  He could feel the breath moving in and out, the implication of being mortal and alive in a way he’d never knew was possible incredibly jarring.

Murray went ahead of them, throwing open the door before he and Azune could get there.  Bolaire could see over her head; there was a veritable crowd outside, but Rosadella and Spiro were standing guard, backs to the door, keeping everyone out.

Bolaire had been fond of them before.  Now…he was going to add gratitude to that, although it would have been protocol to keep the well-meaning idiots out after such an incident. 

They only turned after Bolaire called their names.  Rosadella gave him a small bow, her hands behind her back, her surprise only shown in the widening of her eyes.  “Are you all right?” he asked quietly.

“Yes, Curator.  Thank you.”

He knew she wasn’t talking about him just inquiring after her health. 

Spiro was holding a bundle of black fabric.  “Curator, I thought you might want this.”  He let the folds fall, revealing a voluminous hooded black cloak.  “I know how much you dislike making a spectacle of yourself.”

Which was true…except when it wasn’t.  This was definitely one of those times when he really wanted to escape the staring.  Because everyone was indeed gawking and he supposed he could understand it.  The cursed mask story had been the basis of his persona there at the Archanade, as well as his life out within the greater city of Dol-Makjar.

“I…had to scrounge for it,” Spiro went on, looking a little embarrassed, “so it’s going to be a little too big.  I didn’t want to try to get into your office.”

Smart boy.  Bolaire kept his office effectively trapped, especially since Lady Amaryia Cormoray had been snooping around.

“Remind me to give you both raises,” he declared, accepting the cloak.  Azune helped him into it, really too weak at that moment to wrestle it around himself.

“Curator,” Rosadella murmured hesitantly, “may I ask…is this a good thing?  The mask…the curse being broken?” 

Bolaire himself still wasn’t so sure about that, but he couldn’t say that to her.  “We still don’t know what happened.  When we do…I’ll be able to answer that.”

“Let’s get you home,” Azune broke in.  He craned his head to stare into the crowd of archivists and patrons, his bright eyes glaring.  “Could someone please arrange a coach?”

“We already have,” Rosadella said.  “Spiro and I…well, we figured you’d want to leave and we didn’t want to hold you up.”  She swallowed.  “We didn’t know what condition you’d be in, Sir.”

Yes, there would definitely be a raise involved.  And a commendation.  And a letter recommending them to anyone they might want to work for if they were ever let go from the Archanade.

“Everyone, please stand aside,” Azune called out. 

The crowd parted, letting them through.  He heard Murray say she was staying to continue the investigation, then the door shut with a loud thud. 

“Get me out of here,” Bolaire whispered, feeling extremely self-conscious with all the staring.  He could hear them whispering as well, about it being a miracle and how wonderful it was that he was no longer cursed. 

He did his best to ignore it all as Azune escorted him out, making sure the oversized hood was up over his face, wanting to disappear until he could get himself best under control.

Bolaire was confused, his entire body hurt, his head was pounding – in time with his heartbeat, of all things – and he just felt wrong. 

He wanted to see Hal. 

**********

“Bolaire?”

“Whoa,” Azune exclaimed, keeping Hal on his very unsteady legs. 

Hal wasn’t really paying attention to the young man, his eyes firmly on his best friend huddled in the chair, trying to avoid Hal’s gaze.

This was impossible.

Instead of the familiar mask, there was a face.  A pale face, but a face with skin stretched over a very familiar ‘bone’ structure, as well as the same thin nose and full lips…only the lips were pink, not that dark grey that Hal had gotten used to, and the twin tear tracks were gone.  Blue eyes were flickering around the room, holding a combination of emotions that, at first, Hal couldn’t interpret.  When he did, he shrugged off Azune’s hand on his elbow and knelt in front of his dear friend, holding out a hand to ask permission to touch.

Fear.

Pain.

And trust.

The man who had once been a mask nodded slightly.  Hal rested his fingers gently on Bolaire’s cheek, feeling warm flesh where there had once been cool clay.  Bolaire flinched a little; Hal didn’t take it as an insult, after all his friend had always been a bit touch averse.  Still, this had to be such a change for him, and the very last thing Hal wanted to do was overwhelm him.

“How did this happen?” he whispered. 

“An artifact,” Bolaire answered.  The mask had always been mobile when speaking, but there was something smaller in the action now.  Hal could feel the muscles that had replaced man-made materials flex under his fingers.

“Murray stayed behind at the Archanade to run some tests on it,” Azune continued, “but her initial hypothesis is either a Wish or True Polymorph spell.”

“She’s leaning toward Wish,” Bolaire added.  The voice was exactly the same, except there was something timid in it that Hal didn’t care for. 

“I’d ask you how you feel,” Hal said, “but I think that would be a little idiotic at the moment.”

Bolaire actually huffed a laugh.  “I hurt all over.  The sensations are…overwhelming.  I want to scratch all my skin off but at the same time I don’t want to touch it.  I can’t make up my mind if I’m happy that I don’t have to find bodies to wear anymore, or upset that this choice was taken away from me.  Would I have even done it if it was offered to me?  I just don’t know.”

“Sounds like a lot.”  Hal’s heart went out to him.  This had to be so confusing and painful and now everything was uncertain.  It had to be like starting all over again.

Although, the idea of not having to steal bodies anymore sounded like a plus in Hal’s book.

“You have no idea.”  Bolaire sighed, pushing a little into Hal’s hand.  “I’ve existed for so many years on my own terms.  I’ve scrabbled out a life that was mine.  But now, I’m not even sure I’m Bolaire Lathalia anymore, even though that’s who I still identify as.  I don’t know what I’m doing.”  His eyes glistened with unshed tears.  “Can you help me?”

Hal was touched by the trust his friend was putting in him.  “I’ll do whatever you need me to do.”

“Thank you, darling.” He gave Hal a slight smile.  “Right now, I could really use a glass of wine.”

“That might not be a good idea.  If this body was created for you some way, then it’s brand new…which means a brand new stomach, and I’m not sure wine would agree with it just yet.  How about some tea and broth to start?”  The last thing Hal wanted was to make Bolaire sick.

“That…would probably be for the best, I suppose.”  Bolaire shivered under Hal’s hand.  “You wouldn’t possibly have something looser I could wear?  These clothes are irritating me, I think.”

“I might have just the thing.”  Hal got to his feet, ignoring the creak in his knees.  He had to take his hand away from Bolaire’s new face, but he could tell that his friend was starting to get a little overwhelmed by the touch.  “I have a pair of silk pajamas you might like…they’re going to be larger on you, but that seems to be what you need right about now.”

“That sounds perfect.”

“I can get the tea and broth started,” Azune volunteered. 

Hal had almost forgotten he was there.  “Thanks.”

“No problem.  Then I’ll head back to the Archanade to check in with Murray.  That’ll give Bolaire some time to rest.”

Azune didn’t add that he believed Bolaire would rest easier without a crowd in the house.

But then, he didn’t need to.

Hal pointed out where the tea things and the broth was stored, then turned back to Bolaire.  “You were a little wobbly when you came in.  Do you need me to help you?”

Bolaire rolled his eyes.  “The only reason Azune had such a tight grasp on me was that I nearly tumbled ass over teakettle out of the coach when we arrived.  Not that I wasn’t grateful you caught me,” he nodded toward Azune.

Azune looked a little sheepish. “I was holding onto you a little too hard, but I didn’t want you to fall.  Sorry about that; I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Well, if Bolaire was being a little snippy, then Hal had faith that he was going to recover.

“It’s fine.”  He waved a gloved hand in Azune’s direction. “However, I do think I’ll need help getting up the stairs,” Bolaire admitted.  “I was leaning on Azune’s arm most of the way to the coach.  We can try that, and then take our time.”

“Works for me.”  Hal held out his arm.

His friend took it, levering himself out of the chair with a tired moan.  “If this is how a true body feels, I’m not so sure this is going to be for me.”

Hal could tell he was trying to joke about it.  “Just wait until you start to get old.”

“My word.  That sounds dreadful.”

Hal chuckled as he helped Bolaire toward the stairs.  “Let me know if you need to take a breather.”

Bolaire nodded, taking a hold of the railing as they began their trip up to Hal’s room.

They made it to Hal’s bedroom without too much trouble.  Hal made sure to take it at Bolaire’s pace, which was concernedly slower and less graceful than he was used to seeing his friend move. 

There was a very large part of Hal that was looking forward to Bolaire growing old with him.  He wasn’t fooling himself though that it would be easy.  Bolaire had been through so much of what was basically trauma, his entire person being rewritten and changed into something that he was simply not used to. 

Yet, he couldn’t help but hope that Bolaire would want to walk the path of old age with him.  Bolaire was the one person who’d stayed; who’d been there for Hal’s children; had been such a great help to Hal with the theater. Hal couldn’t think of a single person he’d want by his side for the years they had left.

When he’d found out the truth of Bolaire’s existence, Hal hadn’t known what to think at first.  It didn’t help that Bolaire himself seemed to disregard his own person at times; Hal had to wonder if Thjazi had had something to do with that.  However, he’d come to realize that Bolaire was the same as he’d always been, it was just that Hal had seen behind the façade of mortality to the person who was the mask.

And now, that had changed.  Somehow, mask had become mortal.  Oh, it didn’t change how Hal felt about him, not one bit.  It did add a layer of worry to what Hal already carried around, but he’d have had to have a hardened heart if it hadn’t.  Bolaire had been changed into someone who only knew how to act mortal, not to be mortal. 

This was going to be a steep learning curve for his friend.  Hal would be there to help.

“Have a seat,” Hal murmured, leading Bolaire to the bed.  “Let me get those pajamas for you.”

As he was turning away, a hand snagged his.  Hal looked down into Bolaire’s new eyes, seeing gratitude in them.  There was another emotion, one that Hal thought he could identify, but it wasn’t on him to bring it up.  “Thank you.”

Hal smiled.  “You don’t have to thank me.  I’m here for you.”

Bolaire nodded, releasing his hand.  Hal went to fetch the clothes, adding a pair of warm socks to the pile. 

“I’ll wait outside the door for you,” he said once he’d handed the pajamas over, “so you can have some privacy.  All you have to do is call out if you need me, and I’ll be here.”

He began toward the door, but was stopped once again.

“Hal.”

He turned back toward his friend.  “Bolaire?”

Bolaire looked so small seated on the bed.  But he was smiling.  “I was going to thank you again, but you told me I didn’t have to.”

Hal shook his head, chuckling.  “No debts between friends.”

“I’ll remember that.”

**********

The moment the door closed behind Hal, Bolaire felt a little of the stress creep back in.  He shook his head, feeling a little silly at that; he was safe there, in Hal’s home.  There was no reason to be wary.

A part of him didn’t want to take his clothes off, expose the body that he’d somehow had created for him by a random magic spell.  He understood that this was a holdover from past experience, but he’d only been mortal for what…maybe an hour?  Perhaps two?  Rationally, Bolaire knew it was far too early to begin breaking those behaviors…if he ever did.  Too many years of hiding and pretending felt like too much to overcome.

And yet, he knew Hal would understand.

Bolaire was starting his life all over again.  It almost seemed insurmountable.  He was tired and hurting and genuinely afraid. 

But he had someone who would support him.  Not like before.

More than one person, actually.  That notion seemed almost surreal.

Sighing, Bolaire began to remove his clothing.  He would feel better in the loose, lighter pajamas, he knew that.  But it was almost like taking off a set of armor, covering that protected him from the world. 

He paused in removing his doublet.  In that moment, he realized that was exactly what his outfit was.  It hid him from prying eyes and kept anyone from seeing his true self, although his true self was always on display to the world.

He’d always thought of it as a costume.  He’d been wrong. 

Why was that such a freeing thought?

By the time he had all his layers removed, Bolaire was slightly out of breath.  That was a new sensation; he’d never really paid attention to breathing, only to know when his host had stopped doing it. 

Gingerly, he placed his bare hand on his chest, just over the reddish hair that had appeared there.  They scratched a little under his palm, but it wasn’t unpleasant.  Bolaire felt the air entering and leaving his lungs, and the strong thumping of his new heartbeat.

His lungs.

His heart.

And shit…his own chest hair.  Yes, he’d had hosts before with chest hair, but this…this was very different.  It matched the hair on his head.

Glancing even further downward…oh.  It matched there as well.

Bolaire let out a little hysterical-sounding giggle at the notion that he now had his very own dick. 

Which, of course, meant he now could make his own bodily messes. 

Ugh.

Would he ever get used to that?  He doubted it.

After that revelation, Bolaire put on the pajamas and the socks.  They were a luxurious black, and hung quite loosely on his smaller frame, but they felt divine.  They were so much more comfortable; he wondered where Hal had gotten them from.  Most likely Elodie, that seemed more her style than Thaisha’s.

He was going to have to go shopping for new clothes unless he got used to this new skin. 

A flash of irritation had his making a fist and punching the bed.  Starting over wasn’t something he’d ever thought he’d have to do.  Not like this.

Yes, when eventually Hal passed away, and he lost Shadia and Hero and Alogar and Thaisha and Elodie and everyone else who’d come into his orbit over the years he would have to.  It had always lurked somewhere in the back of his mind, twisting around the fading consciousness of whoever he’d taken over at the time. 

Which, of course, wasn’t there any longer, either.

Which meant he could really hear that thought now, that he’d been a nigh-on immortal sentient mask that would exist long after his loved ones.  He’d considered asking to be buried with Hal, sleeping for the rest of eternity with the man he loved.

But now…

It occurred to Bolaire that he wouldn’t have to.  Hal had joked downstairs about growing old, but now Bolaire truly would.  He would age and eventually die and not have to worry about that whole ‘outliving everyone’ reality.

Bolaire felt a tightness in his chest and a prickling in his eyes.  He reached up to wipe them, only to discover…those were tears.

He was crying.

But he wasn’t upset about the notion of eventually passing away.  Why was he crying?

Oh.

They were happy tears.

Another new experience to add to the list.

Standing, Bolaire went to the door, opening it to reveal Hal leaning against the wall in the hallway.  He pushed himself upright, opening his mouth to say something...and suddenly looked distressed.  “Are you all right?”

Oh, of course.  Hal saw the tears in his eyes.  “I’m fine,” Bolaire assured him.  “I just realized something that actually made me happy.”

“If you’re sure.”  Hal’s expression cleared. 

“I am.” Yes he was.  It was a heady experience.

Hal looked as if he wanted to ask, but instead said, “Before bed, I thought I might braid your hair.  It might keep the worst of the tangles out that way.”

Bolaire considered.  “Honestly, my hair care procedure has always been to take my wig off.”

Hal held out his arm, which Bolaire gratefully took.  He was still feeling a little unsteady, and the last thing he wanted was to fall down the stairs. Besides, he liked being this close to Hal. “I thought as much.  Your hair is a lot like Thaisha’s, only not so tightly curled, and I’d braid hers at night.”

“Then we’ll do that.”  Anyone else he might have been nervous about someone touching him like that, but this was Hal.  Hal wouldn’t deliberately hurt him.  “I’m going to need some help with figuring this body out.  It’s mine now, and I don’t want to do anything that would damage it.”  He’d been lackadaisical at best with his hosts, but his situation had changed quite drastically.

Hal looked pleased.  “I know it’s going to take some time, but we’ll get there.”

Azune was in the living room pacing.  He stopped as soon as he heard them, smiling.  “That does look a lot more comfortable.”

“It is,” Bolaire agreed.  It certainly wasn’t as tight, and it almost felt liberating to let himself breathe, as it were. 

“Chair or sofa?” Hal inquired. 

“Chair, please.”

Bolaire walked under his own power to the chair, settling himself.  He relaxed back into the cushion, sighing a little. 

“I’ll get the tea and the broth,” Azune said.  “Then I should head back to the Archanade and see what Murray’s up to.”

“I’m curious to see what she may have come up with,” Bolaire replied. 

“I think we all are at this point,” Hal agreed.

As Azune went into the kitchen to fetch the drinks, Hal pulled up a table so Bolaire would have somewhere to set things.  As independent as Bolaire was, he was enjoying being waited on.  He wasn’t going to admit that, though. 

Instead, he grumbled a bit.  “The sooner I get used to this, the better I can take care of myself.”

Hal shook his head.  “Don’t overdo it.  We don’t want you overextending yourself.”

“There’s too much going on for me to sit here and wait to figure things out.”  Which was true.  He couldn’t stay away from the Archanade too long, not with Amariya Cormoray sniffing around and demanding a timeline as to when the move could begin. 

And they were deep into their plans to destabilize the Sundered Houses.  They couldn’t put things on hold just because he’d suddenly become mortal.

“Hey.”  Hal crouched down, looking up into Bolaire’s eyes.  “Don’t worry about that right now.  We’ll deal with things as they happen.  We have enough irons in the fire that they can attend to themselves for a little bit.”

Bolaire certainly hoped so.  He was enough of a cynic that he couldn’t help thinking that this would be the perfect time to things to go tits’ up.

The cup of tea and the mug of broth arrived.  Azune set them on the table, then stepped back.  “You going to be okay if I leave?”

“We’ll be fine.”  Hal stood.  “Go and meet with Murray. She’s probably cursing your name right about now.”

Azune flinched a little.  “I’m sure you’re right. We’ll be back around later on, give you a report.”  His eyes met Bolaire’s.  “I know this has to seem like your entire world has been turned on its head, but you know it doesn’t matter to us if you’re a sentient mask or a mortal, right?”

Bolaire felt…he didn’t know what it was, but a warmth spread across his chest at Azune’s words.  He’d only had Hal and his family in his life so long, it was nice to have other friends who cared.

He smiled.  “I promise I’ll take care of myself.”

“That’s all we want.”  Azune strode toward the door.  “See you both later.”

And, with that, he was gone.

“Come on,” Hal urged.  He had the mug in his hand.  “Try this.”  He passed it over.

Bolaire accepted the broth.  It was warm in his bare hands, but not too hot.  The sensation was nice, if he was being honest.  He’d always worn gloves, so the heat had been diffused before, and he catalogued this into the category of a good feeling.

He sniffed it.  Well, at least his sense of smell hadn’t changed.  He could identify beef and salt and spices and, if it was a broth that Hal had made, Bolaire knew it would taste good. 

There was a strange sound coming from his stomach.  “What?” he exclaimed.

Hal laughed.  “Your stomach just rumbled.”

Huh.  He’d heard others do that, but as far as he knew, it had never happened to him.  So, this hollow sensation was what it was like being hungry. 

Had previous hosts felt like this and Bolaire just hadn’t noticed?

This one he listed in the ‘I don’t care for this very much’ category.  

He had a feeling he was going to be making a lot of mental notes like that.

Bolaire took a sip.  Flavors burst across his tongue, and he pulled the mug away from his face in surprise.  This was different…

“Is there something wrong?” Hal asked worriedly.  He’d taken a chair near Bolaire, and looked as if he was going to get up to check on him.

Bolaire took another sip, and it was the same thing.  “No, nothing’s wrong.  It’s just…I don’t recall food tasting this…flavorful, I suppose I should say.  It’s really good.” He had sense of taste been dulled?  What else had he been missing?

Hal smiled, gratified, and settled back in his seat.  “That’s good to hear.”

“It’s…warmer, too.  I don’t mean in my mouth, I mean swallowing.”  Bolaire sipped again.  “Does it usually feel like this going down?” 

“It does.” 

“Hm.”  A part of him wanted to guzzle it, but the larger part wanted to savor.  So he did that.

“I was afraid I’d have to warn you to take it slow.  I didn’t want you to get sick eating too fast.”

“It’s too good to gulp.  It’s like I’m experiencing taste all over again, although I know just how good your cooking is.” 

“Well, it is a brand new you.” 

Bolaire could tell that Hal was pleased.  That, in turn, made him happy.

He was quiet while he finished the broth; he was actually disappointed when it was gone.  “Would you like some more?” Hal inquired.

“I would love some more.” 

“I thought that might be the case when you pouted into the mug.”  His words were teasing and laced with laughter. 

“Well, excuse me for enjoying myself,” he sassed back. 

He really was.  Bolaire had often avoided eating or drinking, but that was because of the hosts he was wearing.  He’d also hated what occurred afterward, because bodies were messy and awful.

However, this was him now.  And Bolaire understood that he’d have to start taking care of himself, if he wanted to stay around and live as long as Hal did.

That wasn’t saying he was going to enjoy that part.  And was he ever going to complain.  But it was an almost fair trade-off for what he’d gained when that artifact had broken.

Well, perhaps.  He’d have to think about that.

Hal got up and took the mug.  Bolaire didn’t miss the fond expression on his face.  “Be right back.”

Bolaire picked up the tea cup, and drank from that.  The liquid was still warm, and it had a floral taste that was quite nice.  He was willing to bet it was a brew that Thaisha favored; it had a decidedly Druidic subtlety to it.

Hal was back in a minute.  He put the mug down on the table for whenever Bolaire was ready for it, then went back to his seat.  “How are you feeling right now?”

Bolaire considered.  “I’m still achy, but it’s not as bad as it was.  My skin still feels really sensitive, but the pajamas are helping.  I think that’s just the way things are going to be from now on and I’ll have to get used to it.”

“It’s probably going to take a little while for that.” 

“I’m sure you’re right.”  He exchanged tea for broth, letting the smell settle into his nose.  “How do you handle it?  Wearing clothes and such if your skin slides against every fabric you cover it with?”

“I don’t even notice it.  It’s just how it is.”  Hal took a deep breath.  “You know, if this is too much, I’m sure Murray could find a way to, you know…”  He waved a hand around.

Bolaire blinked.  Yes, having eyelids was still a new experience.  “Hal, no.  I might never quite get used to nerves and skin and a body with everything that goes with it, but I think I want to stay this way.”  He wanted to be with Hal until he died a natural, mortal death.

I love you. I wish I could have stayed with you.

He suddenly recalled that this was the last thought he’d had.  Somehow knowing that made him want to talk about it. “I remember…when the magic hit me, it felt as if I was breaking apart.  Like my clay was shattering.  I truly thought I was being destroyed.”  It had to have been the mask being remade into what he was now, but it had been horrific at the time, not understanding what was going on.

And, he could tell, Hal felt the same way.  His eyes were wide and terrified.  “You must have been so scared.”

“I was.  But I think the thing that scared me the most was that I was leaving you.  That I wasn’t able to be with you until you were…well. I don’t have to worry about that any longer, do I?  Outliving you and everyone else?”

“No, I don’t suppose you do.”  He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.  “I was thinking that too.  It’s been on my mind ever since you explained your true self.  That you’d be left behind.  I didn’t want that for you, to lose everything you held dear.”

Bolaire didn’t confess that he’d been considering asking to be put to rest with Hal when he died.  That wasn’t necessary now.  “I really wasn’t looking forward to it.”

“It also occurred to me that you’ve only learned how to act mortal.  We’ve got a lot of lessons before us.”

“I’m not looking forward to that, darling.”  But it was something he was going to have to do. 

Hal was once again up out of his chair and kneeling on the floor in front of Bolaire.  “I’ll be with you every step of the way.”  He reached out a hand, seeking permission.

That was something else Bolaire was going to have to think about.  He’d not always wanted touch, unless it was to the mask.  Would that still be the case?  Would he still hesitate when asked?

Well, that was a worry for another day.

Right now, he leaned forward and let Hal cup his cheek, like he’d done before Hal had even known that he was touching the real Bolaire every time he’d press his hand against the mask.  That simple caress had meant the world to Bolaire.

Just as it did now.

Fin