Originally Human

driver, do you? And you indicated a need for privacy." Deliberately he turned to face Michael. "This would be the mystery man."
    "Yes. This is Michael."
    Who was staring. "You," he said, "are most unusual."
    Cullen's eyes narrowed. After a moment of study he said, "So are you. Though I'm damned if I can say what you are. Not quite human, I think?"
    "No. But then, neither are you. I've always wanted to meet one of your kind." Michael turned to me with a smile. "Did you know this is the only realm with Lupi?"
    Oh, yes. That's another thing that Cullen is. A werewolf.

    CULLEN was currently living in a dilapidated little shack in the mountains outside San Diego. At least, that's where he took us. I'm not sure he actually lived there. It looked ready to fall down, but it sat almost on top of a node.
    "Quite small," he told us as he pulled his dusty Jeep to a stop in front of it. "No more than a trickle, really. But enough for my purposes, since I'm the only one using it. I'm trusting you rather a lot," he added, sliding me a glance as he climbed out. "I never bring people here."
    "I'm paying you rather a lot. Besides, you're eaten up with curiosity."
    "True." He flashed me a grin, then turned to Michael, who was studying the land around the cabin. "See anything interesting?"
    "Just your wards. Nice work," Michael said politely. "That low one—it's to keep out vermin? Insects and such?"
    Cullen went very still. "Oh, yes, I am definitely curious. Shall we go inside?"
    The inside didn't look any more solid than the outside, but it was slightly cleaner. There was only one room.
    "Sit," Cullen said, rooting around in a cupboard. "I originally trained in Wicca, if that means anything to you." He took out an athame, two vials, and a small silver bowl.
    "Yes," Michael said, seating himself at the small wooden table. It looked sturdier than the walls of the shack. "It means you're grounded in the basic energies of your realm, which is the best way to begin. With sorcery, though, I assume you're self-taught?"
    "Mostly. Now and then I run across a tantalizing scrap, or cut a deal with one of my reclusive compatriots. We don't trust each other, of course, but we're equally desperate for knowledge. There's a man in Africa doing good work, a woman in Singapore… I've a contact or two in Faerie, as well, though they're a closemouthed lot." He gestured with the hand holding the bowl. "Sit down, Molly. I'm going to try a little creation of my own in a minute, a combination of truth and seek spells. First I have questions."
    I sat. All of a sudden I wasn't at all sure I'd made the right decision, coming to Cullen. But what choice did we have? "I've told you how I found Michael."
    "Questions for him, love, not you." He sat in the third chair, put his tools on the table, and looked at Michael. "You say you don't remember who and what you are, where you came from."
    "I remember pieces. Not the whole."
    "Yet you saw what I was right away. You saw my wards—and knew what they were, too."
    "I gather that most people in this realm do not see the
sorcéri
." He gave the word an odd pronunciation I hadn't heard before.
    "No. No, they don't. You really aren't from this world, are you?"
    "That much I'm sure of."
    Cullen drew a deep breath, let it out slowly. "I have a feeling you know a helluva lot more than I do about magic. Why come to me?"
    "My knowledge isn't always accessible. I want to see if you can hide or disguise my use of the nodes. They—the Azá—track me that way. Molly hopes you can restore my memory."
    "You sound doubtful."
    "I am. I can tell you the spell I used to forget, but I don't know if you will be able to devise a counterspell. I cannot, but being self-trained, you are accustomed to creating your own spells."
    "That will help." Cullen's eyes glittered with excitement.
    Michael gave him an assessing look. "You'll get nothing from me without my cooperation. Even with it, there is some danger."
    Cullen gave a bark of laughter and leaned back in his chair. "Danger? For what you could teach me, I'd risk hurricanes, lightning bolts, and an IRS audit."
    I was feeling worse about this all the time. Cullen glanced at me. "Don't worry, love. If my conscience—an elastic creation, admittedly—snaps under the strain, you can still count on my sense of self-preservation. I know very well you'd make a bad enemy."
    "So would I," Michael said mildly. "But we won't be enemies, will we?"
    "I hope not." Cullen's grin was little short of