9. A Conversation at the Museum
NINE
A CONVERSATION AT THE MUSEUM
Being a good listener is essential for any gentleman, but shapeshifters face unique challenges.
With heightened senses, it’s difficult to focus on the person speaking.
The key is learning to filter distractions and tune in with intention.
Practice maintaining steady eye contact and concentrate on isolating a single voice.
This allows you to use your sharp senses to enhance rather than hinder communication.
Equally important is managing your body language.
A flicking tail, twitching ears, or restless movements can suggest impatience, even if you’re fully engaged.
Whether human or otherwise, ensure your posture is open and responsive.
Listening isn’t just hearing—it’s making the speaker feel valued, even when instincts urge action.
A true gentleman balances attentiveness with his natural instincts.
–EXCERPT FROM THE METAMORPHIC MAN: A GENTLEMAN SHAPESHIFTER’S GUIDE TO CULTURED CONDUCT
“Should we try to find the Director?” Arthur asked. His hands were still shaking, but his breathing had steadied.
“That’s a formal portal.” Will gestured back to the mirror.
“I’m sure the Director’s been made aware we’ve come through it.
Someone should be out to fetch us soon. Just relax.
We can just wait here in the gallery,” Will said patiently.
He was giving Arthur space to regain his composure, for which Arthur was grateful.
The art gallery was located in the second story central atrium of the stately mansion that housed the Museum of Natural Magic. The small private museum was, like many other similar establishments around the world, a cover for The Society for the Protection of Natural Magic.
Will and Arthur had entered through a large gilt-framed mirror at the top of the stairs. Just opposite, twin staircases descended into a ballroom filled with tantalizing exhibits. Arthur glimpsed fangs, claws, and exquisite flora.
On this level, the white walls were adorned with framed paintings that extended from the chair rail to the crown molding. A domed ceiling soared above them, wearing its golden celestial mosaic like a tiara. It was a quiet space, for now.
Arthur stared out the tall windows in front of the stairs, watching the palm trees swaying in the warm morning breeze.
The sun was still low on the horizon. It was just after seven a.m. in California and the world was still waking.
The Museum of Natural Magic would not be open to visitors for another three hours.
Through the windows, Arthur could see the entrance to the museum below them.
There weren’t any special flags flown outside the museum’s doors, such as you’d expect to see at an official Ordinary outpost or embassy.
The Society wasn’t that obvious. But Arthur still questioned whether the witches who ran this outpost were being prudent enough.
Any magical creature could sense there was more to the place than met the eye.
Magic lingered in the air, sparkling like dust motes.
Things didn’t behave as they should in the Ordinary world.
Every time Arthur looked up at the art on the walls, the images changed.
The paintings were continually rearranging and refreshing themselves.
He recognized several of the artworks, painted by some of the most famous artists from the past three centuries.
It begged the question, were the originals truly here?
Or had the resident witches cast a spell making blank walls appear to be full of art?
That was the thing with mental magic. Witches were fond of their mirror mazes and mind games. You never knew for sure what you were looking at. Arthur stared down at his own polished wingtips instead.
“Are you feeling more steady now?” Will asked. “The first time is always a kick in the pants. A significant number of first timers even pee themselves.”
As infuriating as Will could be, Arthur could tell he was genuinely concerned about his welfare.
“All good. No leaks,” Arthur reassured him.
“I never know how anyone is going to react.” Will cracked his neck and stretched his shoulders. “You weren’t too uncomfortable?” He adjusted his turquoise blue brocade jacket and straightened his tie in the gilt-framed mirror.
Even in a gallery full of vivid paintings, Will stood out. Everything about him was supersaturated and bold.
“It was awkward,” Arthur acknowledged. “I wasn’t expecting to be carried.
” He thought about it for a moment and went on.
“But I suppose it’s no more undignified than being crammed into a small seat for six hours on an Ordinary economy flight.
And I didn’t have to go through their security machines.
” The X-rays always made Arthur nervous.
“So that was a win. How about you? How’s your back? ”
“I’m fine.” Will waved away any concern. “People think of most fae as weaklings, but porters are uncommonly strong.”
Arthur reappraised Will, noting that his earlier assumptions about Will being fae, and therefore weak, were unfounded.
“You’d have to be strong, to carry Buffalo,” Arthur said. Buffalo was at least as tall as Arthur and twice as broad. People described him as a tank.
Will looked horrified at the suggestion.
“Why would you even say that? Buffalo never ports!” He imitated spitting three times in rapid succession to ward away the evil eye. Then he shook his finger at Arthur. “No magic for Buffalo, remember?”
“Right…” Arthur studied Will. “But then how on earth did he come to hire you as his PA? And why?” Arthur took a seat on the red velvet upholstered bench next to the mirror. “What is the point of hiring a porter if you don’t intend to port?”
“Just because Buffalo doesn’t use my porting abilities to travel, doesn’t mean I’m not a useful asset to the company.
I doubt you can find a PA who can run errands faster than I can.
” Will winked. He sat down beside Arthur and leaned back against the wall.
“Buffalo started working with me, similar to how he started working with you. He took a special interest in me.”
“Did your parents work for him as well, then?” Arthur was curious now.
Will seemed to be about the same age as Arthur.
But Arthur didn’t recall any fae working on the Westabrook estate besides Maida’s nanny, who’d come by to visit his father from time to time.
They’d loved to trade tales about their lives back in Ireland.
“No such luck. I never knew my parents. A witch and a fae, most likely. I grew up in an orphanage for half-breeds. Buffalo visited occasionally. His donations were probably the only thing that kept that place running.”
“I’m so sorry,” Arthur said. He’d heard of such places. Full of sadness, squalor, and the unwanted results of forbidden affairs. Few of the orphans survived to adulthood.
“There were mostly shifter hybrids in my group.” Will gazed straight ahead as he spoke, staring at nothing in particular. “None of them were born with significant abilities. They looked too different to pass as Ordinaries, trapped as they were in mid-morphic forms. And they were mean.”
Arthur glanced sidelong at Will, raising his eyebrows.
“Not because they were shifters! Because their parents abandoned them. Abandonment will do that to you. We all had wounds,” Will clarified.
He turned to face Arthur as he went on with his story.
“There were only a handful of us fae mixes. We were smaller and had a tendency to talk back, which meant we got pummeled quite often.”
“That sounds terrible, Will.” Arthur turned to face the other man. He was both surprised and touched by Will’s candor. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
“Thanks for that.” Will nodded, acknowledging the sympathy.
“I think the only thing that kept those other kids from killing me was that Buffalo came down hard on the bullies when he visited. I really looked forward to his visits.” Will studied his own hand for a moment.
“Sometimes I even fantasized that one day he’d come back there and adopt me,” he revealed.
“I can recall having similar wishful thoughts as a child,” Arthur admitted. “And I wasn’t even an orphan.”
Will smiled wryly. “Pretty soon, it wasn’t only a wish I made when I was awake.
When I hit puberty, I started sleep-porting into Buffalo’s house.
It was embarrassing for me. I’d wake up in his pantry or his home theater, clueless how I got there.
I couldn’t explain it. I had no idea what was happening. ”
“Was Buffalo angry?” Arthur asked.
“A little. He didn’t know how I was getting in, and neither did I but it obviously wasn’t through the front door.
You know how he feels about magic in his household.
By the fairy moonlight, I’m just thankful that Granny Luna recognized me for what I was,” Will said.
“Have you met her? She was Maida’s nanny.
Full fae. Still works as a housekeeper for Buffalo. ”
“I remember her.” Arthur nodded. “So that’s how you found out you were a porter?”
“Yes,” Will agreed. “It could have been a lot worse. I could have sleep-ported into a brothel, or time traveled, or woken in a lion’s den.”
“But you never ported into Maida’s room?” Arthur asked. He could only imagine how that would have ended.
“Thankfully! There’s a reason so few porters make it to adulthood.” Will laughed. “Maida is pretty amazing, by the way. I would have loved to have a sister like her. She’s rather extraordinary for a woman who’s supposed to be an Ordinary.”
Arthur wondered what she looked like now. He hated to interrupt Will’s tale to ask for a photo. He’d see her soon enough, anyway.
“So what happened next?” Arthur urged Will to go on.
“Buffalo arranged for me to study in Japan for my formal porter training and apprenticeship. When I finished there, he hired me to work for his company. Not exactly the same as adopting me, but I’m still grateful. I owe him everything.”
“What about Maida?” Arthur asked. “Do you think she ever suspected anything was unusual about you?”
Will looked sad for a moment. “I don’t think so. Buffalo told her I was his intern, and then eventually he told her I got promoted.”
Will jumped to his feet and strode a few feet down the hall to admire a painting. “But you know what? I’m not about to hide who and what I am—not for her or anyone. She’s just never asked.”
“Good for you,” Arthur said. But he thought the opposite. He knew exactly what was likely to happen if Maida suspected something. Will would be sent far, far away.
“Hey, do you think that is a Picasso?” Will gestured at a painting that looked like a collection of squiggly lines to Arthur.
“You’re correct. It is indeed a Picasso.
” A perky blond college-aged witch stepped into the hall from a side door and strolled confidently toward them.
She wore a blue blazer bearing the museum’s crest. “I’m Marigold.
I’m an intern here. Welcome to the Museum of Natural Magic.
I see you had no issue accessing the museum’s portal.
Director Berman will be with you shortly. She’s just finishing a call.”
“Excellent.” Will clapped his hands. “Do we have time to have a look around, then? I’ve always wanted to tour the museum. I understand you have quite a few werewolf teeth in your collection?”
“I don’t think we should, Will,” Arthur protested. “Some other time, perhaps?” What was Will thinking? They were on a mission, not a pleasure trip.
“Have you never visited this museum?” Marigold seemed surprised. “I’d be happy to give you a quick tour.”
Arthur shook his head again. “No thanks, we’ll wait here,” he said.
But Will ignored Arthur, linking his arm with Marigold’s and marching her toward the stairs.
“Hurray! I’d love a tour!” he exclaimed giddily. “You and Director Berman can get started without me,” Will called over his shoulder. “I really want to check out the fairy garden. You never know—it might work for a Westabrook event.”
Arthur’s jaw dropped.
He couldn’t keep up with Will’s whims. Porter or no, the man was prone to behaving like a child.