Standing outside the run-down building, Korlon took the locket out of his pocket again. The curl of fine white hair lay within, unaffected by the long passage of years, and unruffled now by the soft breeze. He stared at it for another second, then entered the building.

It took a moment for his night vision to adjust to the darkness inside. The bright wallpaper was tattered and faded, the lights broken. Tables were arrayed in the same pattern as always, but dust was their tablecloth now, and the chairs were strewn haphazardly about as though by an air elemental. Korlon saw further, beyond the disrepair, to his first visit here, where he caught his first glimpse of her.

It was a canines-only bar, but Korlon's teacher was a worker of illusions and a keen connaisseur of female felines, and so for this Fireday evening, he had disguised the two of them as dogs and sprayed them with eau de chien, so that they could get in to see Persian Paulette. The dog at the door didn't even give them a second glance, but Master Baeri still hissed at Korlon when the young student gawked at the gaudy interior. In feline bars, the lighting was dim and the decorations muted, the atmosphere more conducive to personal evenings. Here, it would be impossible to hold a personal conversation, as much because of the noise level as of the possibility of someone nosing in.

They chose a table close to the stage and endured the canine yammerings as best they could. Most of the clientele were dogs, although a few foxes slunk around the corners, and a coyote was waited on hand and paw at a nearby table. A French poodle in a slinky outfit walked up to their table as Korlon was looking around.

"What'll it be, gents?" she asked brusquely. Korlon looked helplessly at Baeri; he usually ordered catnip and creme, but he doubted that a canine bar would stock that.

"Two ales," Baeri said. The poodle marked something down, then looked suspiciously at Korlon.

"Hey, kid," she began.

Oh, no! She noticed me! Korlon felt his blood surge, and his claws extended automatically.

"Let's see some I.D.," she continued, holding out her hand.

She hadn't noticed his claws. Korlon carefully withdrew them again, then reached into his pocket for his badge. He handed it to her nervously.

She looked at it for a moment, then handed it back to him carelessly when the magical gem remained bright blue. "Okay." Sliding smoothly between the tables, she soon disappeared behind the bar.

"Good thing she didn't notice your claws, kid," Baeri said in a undertone, and Korlon felt his fur prickle. He should have known Baeri would; the old wizard didn't miss much. He briefly wondered why Baeri hadn't disguised him as an older dog, but knew better than to ask. The old wizard didn't appreciate his mistakes being pointed out.

"Sorry," he mumbled. "I thought she saw " He choked off the last few words, realizing what he had been about to say.

Baeri said it anyway. "Through my illusion? You didn't trust me?"

"No, it's not that," Korlon said miserably. "It's "

"Used magic to fake your I.D.? Pretty good trick that. Never think of it myself." The bright, perky voice came from a red-furred dog at the table behind Baeri. He was alone except for the five empty mugs on his table.

Baeri turned around. "I'm surprised you manage to think of anything," he snapped.

"Basht's teeth, I'm sorry," muttered the redhead, and he buried his face in the ale he was holding. "No need to bite my head off."

Baeri turned back, but whatever he was going to say was interrupted by the waitress bringing their drinks just as the unbearably bright lights dimmed. Korlon sipped the ale, grimacing at its sourness, and turned to face the stage.

The first act was a comedian, whose atrocious mouse jokes were as unpopular as his pathetically contrived chase of the spotlight across the stage. He finally gave up in exasperation when the crowd started howling. "Go howl at the moon!" he yelled, and stalked off the stage.

The howls died down; the spotlight shifted to a deep blue, though the stage remained empty. Then Korlon, looking into the dark corner of the stage, saw what most of the dogs probably could not: the cat herself, waiting for her cue. Her fur was a soft white, cleaner and purer than any he had ever seen. Makeup, he told himself, but that didn't stop his mouth from going dry as she shifted her feet restlessly, revealing perfect curves even through her long fur.

A low horn sounded from somewhere, and she walked into the spotlight, faced the crowd, and slowly smiled. Baeri's canine mouth dropped, and Korlon felt his muscles tense, not even noticing that his claws were out again until they clinked against his mug. And then she began to dance.

The wallpaper faded, the obtrusive canine scent was gone. Korlon's eyes and nose were filled with her graceful moves, her delicate scent. It was only a striptease, but she moved with such finesse that the limited dance seemed to be confining her within its crude movements. She performed the garish ritual with a flourish that showed she was capable of much more, so that to Korlon, it seemed that only an eyeblink later she stood fully revealed before the crowd. Korlon felt as though she had performed the dance for him alone, and was embarrassed to find himself unconsciously responding to her. Self-consciously, he straightened his robe just as the horns finished with a triumphant flourish, and the spotlight went out.

Korlon watched her walk with tired dignity across the darkened stage and accept a robe from an outstretched hand. Then the house lights brightened, and he lost sight of her in the sudden glare.

Baeri, he noticed when he turned around, was still gazing raptly at the stage. His claws were fully extended across the curve of the ale mug he clenched in his hand. Korlon waited patiently until Baeri noticed him, at which point the claws snapped back and the old cat straightened his robe nonchalantly.

"Good, eh?" Baeri whispered across the table.

Korlon nodded. "Fantastic," he said. "Why doesn't she dance in cat bars?"

"Are you kidding?" Baeri returned scornfully. "The cats would be all over her. Besides, where could she do something like this?"

He was right, of course. Stripteases, although common in the rodents' bars and in some canine bars, were not usually popular with the more withdrawn felines. And Korlon was just as glad. He was already determined to meet her; it would be much easier without having to compete with a crowd of admirers.

He left Baeri, making an excuse about his stomach that he was sure the wizard saw through. Prowling around outside, it only took him a few minutes to find the back entrance to the bar. A cursory sniff told him that she had not yet left, so he settled down in a dark corner to wait.

His patience was soon rewarded. The door sighed open, and a white furry body stepped cautiously into the alley. She stopped immediately as the door swung closed. "Who's there?" she called, sniffing the air. Her voice was as pure and powerful as her dancing.

"An admirer," Korlon said, stepping out behind her. "I really enjoyed your act."

"I don't do mutts," she said, eyes narrowed.

"Huh? Oh I had to do that to get in," he said, realizing that he still reeked of eau de chien.

She looked closer. "So you did. Just to see me?" He nodded. "Well, come on, mutt," she said. "You can walk me home."

She lived in a dingy studio apartment in a cold stone building. Korlon couldn't help staring as they walked in. "I'd think someone as talented as you could ... well, would have your own place."

She lit a candle and turned, smiling. "This is my own place. Have a seat."

He sat gingerly on one of the cushions. The room was filled with her scent, and it was making him a little giddy. He tried shaking his head slightly, to clear it, but the gesture didn't help much.

"What do you do?" she asked, looking into a mirror as she combed through her fur.

"Me? Oh, I'm an apprentice," he said, looking around at the plain cushions, and the rug that didn't really cover the wood floor. No kitchen, no bathroom except for a tub and chamberpot; but then, only the most luxurious apartments afforded such facilities.

Her tone was amused. "An apprentice what?" she asked.

A warm flush crept up Korlon's face, and he noticed a faint smile on her face when he turned to look at her. "Magician," he said. "I, uh, do magic."

Her smile broadened. "A magician, eh? I've known a few magicians, but all they ever wanted was to get me into bed." She raised her eyebrows, and he swished his tail self-consciously. "Or are you too young for that kind of talk?"

He shook his head quickly. "No, I'm full citizen."

She nodded, and walked over to the tub. "For how long?" she asked, reaching into it and drawing out a dripping towel.

"Um, almost a year --" He stopped in surprise as she tossed the wet towel to him.

"Here, it's clean. Wash that dog smell off, mutt," she said, smiling.

The smell of dog was still thick in the bar, but old. Korlon traced a pattern through the dust on one table, absently. The memories were so clear, of that first night with her. Looking up at the stage, he could almost see her, as clearly as if Baeri were sitting with him again. The smell of the wet towel she had tossed him was faint, but purely hers, devoid of perfume or makeup, and it was sharp in his mind. In his ears, he could still hear her calling him "mutt."

He closed his eyes, wondering why he remembered that night so well. Even the night they first shared a bed was not as clear in his memory as that first encounter, when a nervous young apprentice and a more jaded young dancer had first glimpsed each other. What had grown from that encounter -- he had never believed that he could be that close to someone, that he could share dreams and life so thoroughly.

The dust was thick, making his fingers feel dirty. He opened his eyes, looking down at the pattern he'd traced. Was that all that was left of their dreams, of their lives?

"One day," she said, legs tucked below her on the bed, "I will go to the Twin Peaks and dance in the City of a Thousand Colors."

"You'll be the best there," Korlon replied, scritching her back.

"And you'll be there with me, won't you?"

"As the best magician in Fyrd," he replied.

"I'll wait while you learn," she promised, "training."

"And I'll wait while you train," he promised, "learning." They sealed the bargain with a kiss.

The memory of her lips still lingered on his, making his fist clench, partially extended claws digging into his palm. Forcing his hand open, he tried to breathe normally, to relax himself, but there was still a painful knot inside him. She had trained, and he had learned, and every week, she would dance here, and he would come watch. Trusty, the old hound who owned the bar, had made an exception to the 'no cats' rule on nights when Paulette was dancing, just for him.

Two of the stools had fallen over, but Korlon could still remember the regulars who'd sat on those stools every night he'd been there, and probably the other six nights as well. He'd become a regular over the next two years, but had never developed a friendship for any of the bardogs except for Trusty. The old hound had even ordered a small supply of catnip and creme, and some nights, he would sit with the young apprentice before Paulette came out.

"Women, m'boy," Trusty said, "just ain't worth it."

Usually, Korlon humored the old dog, but tonight he'd already had one drink and the better part of another. "Why not?" he challenged. "When Paulette and I are together, I feel more alive than I ever have before. How can that not be worth it?"

Trusty growled, and took another drink of thick black ale. "Oh, you may think i's worth it now, boy. But trust me, nothing lasts forever."

A stubborn look on his face, Korlon took another sip of his drink, too. "We will," he insisted.

A chuckle escaped the old dog's lips and he patted Korlon's paw. "Maybe you will, at that," he said gruffly, grinning. "I oughta know better'n to try t'talk sense at young love."

Alone amidst the dust, Korlon shook his head. No, Trusty, you were more right than you knew, he thought.

"You have to "

"Go away. Baeri says that to graduate, I have to 'find my own magic,' which means travel around the country."

"You didn't know about this before?"
Korlon looked a little guilty. "I'd been hoping I could get out of it, and I didn't want to worry you ..." his voice trailed off.

"How long?" she sighed, one paw resting on his shoulder.

"He won't say. But I asked around, and the other two teachers in the city say it could be anywhere from a month to a year. And ... I might not come back."

"What?"

"If ... if I find my magic, it might kill me. Or I might find the wrong one. Or I might not find any."

"Don't say that. Of course you'll succeed. You're going to be the best in the world, remember?" She smiled weakly, not even convincing herself. Korlon just hung his head.

"I'll go with you," she offered, finally, knowing his answer before he gave it.

"No. I have to go alone. And besides ... you need to practice. You're going to the City of a Thousand Colors, aren't you?" She nodded, a tear forming in her eye. "Well, I'll be there to see it. And I'll be back as soon as I can."

"I'll be here, mutt." But the day he left on his quest, he knew with a sinking feeling that their love was over. Their dreams were taking them in different directions, and abandoning those dreams would kill their love as effectively as this cleaner separation.

A year and a half later, he rode into town on the back of a magical herdbeast conjured from a bone, hoping against hope that she would be there, only to find that she had vanished without a trace. Trusty professed ignorance, saying sadly that over a year ago, she "up 'n' left, without a word." Korlon searched the bars and ballets, with no luck, and every night, conjured up her image from the lock of hair she had left him. He didn't know, then, how to use the fur to locate her; although sympathetic magic -- like calling to like -- was his specialty, it was so much easier to just call something out of the magical firmament that it had taken him many years to learn to link two like things in the tangible world. That was the reason he hadn't searched for her sooner. The only reason.

He tried to work in the city, but it held too many memories for him, so he settled as far away from it as possible. In the intervening years, he had not returned, and he was back now to choose an apprentice -- and to find her.

The ruined bar blurred in his sight. He wiped the tear away and looked around one last time. In the dark shadows of the stage, a figure stirred. Korlon caught his breath in senseless hope, and then his eyes focused on the old brown hound.

The years had not been kind to Trusty. He emerged from the shadows slowly, leaning heavily on the wooden cane that was as gnarled and twisted as he was.

"Nothin' here f'you ta take, ya vulture," he wheezed, hobbling up to Korlon. Supporting his weight on a table, he brandished the cane. "Now clear out afore I clear ya out."

"Take it easy, old friend," Korlon said. "It's only me."

Trusty peered closer. "Say! The cat came back. Y'ever find Paulette?"

Korlon shook his head. "No. What happened to the bar?"

Trusty spat to one side. "Stinkin' rodent-lovers. Closed down my bar cause o' a few back taxes. Left me in the cold."

"What do you eat?" Korlon asked, concerned.

"This 'n' that," the hound said, his gaze drifting aimlessly along the tables. "Racht's tail, she used to be so pretty."

"Used to be?" Korlon asked, startled.

"Well, she sure ain't now," Trusty gestured to the walls. "Or ain't ya looked around none?"

"Oh, the bar. I thought you meant never mind."

They stood in silence, lost in private worlds of memory. After several minutes, Korlon looked around once more, then reached out to shake Trusty's hand. "I've got to go. I'll see you around."

Trusty's grip was weak, his hand frail and brittle. "Not likely," he coughed. Korlon turned away in silence. He didn't need medical training to know what the old hound meant.

Outside, he took the lock of hair out again. Like to like, he thought, concentrating. She's somewhere in the city. Take me to her.

The hair tugged at his grip, leading him out of the slums and into the heart of the city. He skirted market stalls and pedestrians, single-mindedly intent on reaching his destination.

It pulled him toward a luxurious house near the main Council building and the President's mansion. He tried to go around the house, but anywhere he walked, he was pulled back toward it. Maybe she's struck it rich, he thought, but he was certain that it wasn't her house. Nevertheless, he mustered his courage and knocked at the ornate door.

An elegantly dressed Siamese answered the door. His robe was black with white trim, pure silk from the look of it. Korlon fingered his coarse blue robe and spoke hesitantly.

"Is ... Paulette in?"

The Siamese regarded him with haughty disdain. "Madame Harbane is very busy. Are you ... expected?" His nose wrinkled, as if the very idea were repugnant.

Korlon placed the lock of hair in one of his empty vials and handed the locket to the servant. "Give her this. I'll wait."

The Siamese picked up the trinket carefully between two fingers, sniffed, and retreated into the building, closing the door behind him. Several minutes later, he returned and handed the locket back to Korlon. "Madame will see you in a minute," he announced. "If you will step inside." He held the door for Korlon and showed him into a richly decorated living room.

Above the obviously decorative fireplace was a sculpture that Korlon recognized as the work of a famous dead sculptor, one of the few items he had ever seen up close that could be priced in pounds of gold. The walls were of fine Alophtan pine, carved with intricate reliefs, and the floor was covered by a rug that Korlon thought was also Alophtan, though he wasn't sure. The furniture consisted of two sofas more pine, by the smell covered with rich velvet in muted beige colors. Korlon sat down hesitantly on one of them.

On the glass table in front of him sat a marble game board, the pieces set up in a two-player position that gave white the win after four moves. He made the first absently, then removed his hand from the board, studying the game to avoid thinking about Paulette.

He heard her soft step before she said "White wins in four moves."

"Three," he answered without looking up. Her scent was difficult to catch through the haze of pine intentionally, no doubt so he looked toward the other entrance to the room, where she had spoken from.

Her curves were a little wider, and she wore a conservative business robe, dark blue with maroon cuffs and sash. Again, Korlon was acutely conscious of his threadbare standard issue blue cotton garment. The biggest shock, though, was not seeing her dressed like a businesscat, but her close cropped hair.

"So you're back," she said casually, though her claws betrayed her nervousness.

"You cut your hair," Korlon said idiotically.

"I had to," she replied, wrinkling her eyebrows.

"Is this your house?" he asked.

"Goodness, no," she shook her head. "It belongs to Herm Councillor Swift."

Swift. Had to be a cheetah. Only they had cute last names. There was an awkward silence of a few minutes, as Korlon returned his gaze to the game board, not really seeing it.

"Where do you dance now?" Korlon asked finally, looking back at her.

"I ... gave that up. I dance to a different tune, with greater rewards, now." She bent her head, avoiding his eyes.

Korlon felt an ache in his chest, remembering her telling him that the dance was its own reward. He turned his head, looking at the reliefs, the game, anything but her, in case the impending pressure behind his eyes suddenly embarrassed him.

"You're not the best magician in the world," she said, not accusingly, but softly, and matter-of-factly.

"No. I live out in the middle of nowhere. Mostly I just spend my time surviving; I don't do a lot of research." He reached out and moved a black piece.

"Oh, Kor," she said, her voice small and scared, "I wish you hadn't come back."

"So do I." He stood, still avoiding looking at her. "Don't worry. I won't be back." He started for the exit, but she ran after him, swung him around, and clutched him tightly as though she were holding on to her life or her dreams. He hugged her automatically, but their love was gone, and he derived no comfort from it. She stepped back, eyes moist, and looked into his face, but they both knew better than to kiss.

"Good bye, Kor," she said, and ran out of the room.

He couldn't go back to the other magicians, to the friendly prying eyes that allowed him no privacy, no time to remember and regret. So he wandered, ignoring the curses of the people he occasionally bumped into, until he looked up and found that his feet had taken him full circle, unconsciously, back to the old ruined bar. Well, there were worse places to end up.

Inside, Trusty was sitting at a table. His shoulders were hunched over his head, and he was making a wheezing sound that echoed eerily in the emptiness of the bar. Korlon sat down across from him and gently touched his shoulder.

"Trusty?"

The hound looked up. "Say, the cat came back."

Korlon managed a weak smile. "You said that already."

"What are you, a reporter?" Trusty's eyes were looking at Korlon, but he was gazing far beyond the cat.

Korlon sighed. He was looking around when Trusty grabbed his shoulder. "No cats allowed!" He attempted to wrench Korlon from his seat, but his grip was so pathetically weak that he gave up after only a few seconds and sank back into his seat.

For a moment, they sat in silence, sharing each others' loss. Trusty's wheezing became worse suddenly, and he keeled over the table. Korlon reached out to hold his head, and Trusty looked straight at him, back in the present. "She was so pretty," he whispered.

Korlon stared for a moment, then stood, gently laying Trusty's head on the table so he could see around him. Then he gathered some dust from the table and cast it into the air, muttering an evocation as he did so.

In an instant, the bar was alive once more. Bright lights highlighted the shiny wallpaper, cast bizarre shadows across the tables as the waitresses wove skilfully through them. The sound of merry conversation and the scent of satisfied customers filled the air. And on the stage, Paulette shook her long white hair and danced with all her heart and soul.

Trusty looked around, enraptured. He lifted his head and drank in the sights, his nostrils widening to catch the smells, ears perking up to the lively noise. A smile formed on his old, grizzled face and lingered there. "Ahhh," he breathed, satisfied. Then he closed his eyes and lay down his head for the last time.

Korlon watched his friend die, and slowly, he removed the dogs, the wallpaper, and the lights, until there was only her, dancing on the stage, dancing only for him. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them, she was gone, and there was only the dust, settling slowly to the floor.

"Good bye, Paulette," he said aloud, and walked out into the light.