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It’s one thing to be invited to dinner; it’s another to be taken to a tailor first.

Abram smiled at me from his chair a short distance away from the low pedestal on which I stood, the better for the Eurasian badger we’d come to visit to take seemingly innumerable measurements. I had been stripped down to a pair of briefs (because being furclad seemed a bit much), and I felt more than a little self-conscious. Granted, during the months I had spent with my family in The Menagerie, I’d had the chance to improve my body somewhat. Markus had been guiding me through what I had dubbed Weight Training for Older Dummies; I’d never be buff (not that I’d ever entertained the notion), but I was stronger for the work (including some tightening of the abdominal muscles), and I burned off a few more calories on the treadmill. Meals taken at the club were more balanced fare than I usually gave myself, which also helped to trim me up a bit. Randall, my only client, certainly had no complaints with my somewhat leaner self. Most important of all, my family gave me many reasons to take better care of myself. Prior to my discovery of them, I didn’t much care if my life ended sooner rather than later; now, I wanted to stick around for as long as I could.

“Relax, Tristan,” the kitsune soothed. “Let Silvio do his job. He’s the very best there is, believe me.”

“Mille grazi, Signore Abram,” the tailor smiled, his Italian accent light and pleasing to the ear, his forepaws wielding his measuring tape with the hypnotic precision of a maestro’s baton. He was skilled in every action, even managing to take my inside leg measurement without the slightest hint of an inappropriate gesture. I was too skittish to be able to make a joke about Mr. Humphreys aloud, but I suspected that Abram knew what I was thinking. It was clear that he trusted the tailor in every way, however: The kitsune had not hidden his tails, here in the fitting room, and all three maintained a slow, pleased wagging.

“I hope that I’m not being fitted for a tux,” I managed. “I’m not terribly comfortable in such outfits.”

“You’ve not-a been properly fitted, then,” the badger asserted.

“Not to worry,” Abram chuckled softly. “The attire is not so much formal as it is special. Silvio has taken good care of me for years, and he’ll do the same for you.”

“Finished.” The couturier put away his measure and turned toward my benefactor. “Colori?”

“My dear Silvio, I demur to your fine taste, as always.”

Considering me for a long moment, the badger finally nodded. “Nothing to detract-a from such fine-a fur colors. Contrasting to your own-a garments, Signore Abram, yet with-a the theme to make-a you match. I will find-a you some swatches.”

“Actually,” the kitsune said, rising, “let’s allow the wolf to don his clothes while you and I go have a look at those colors.” He offered me quite the teasing smile. “I want the finished garment to be a proper surprise.”

“Let me guess,” I suggested. “Hot pink and lime green?”

Happily, even Silvio allowed this outrage to be the joke I meant it to be. Abram tilted his muzzle up toward me to share a sweet kiss. “As much as I love seeing you furclad, it might be the better part of discretion to have you dressed when we leave the shop.”

The badger didn’t even snicker. Total professionalism, or perhaps just concern for his other customers. Not everyone wants to be confronted by full frontal wolfitude upon their first meeting.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Our dinner date took place a few weeks later and on a Wednesday evening, the better to suit Abram’s dancing schedule. I had rearranged my own schedule, which was easy to do; being a writer gives one some flexibility, unless one is the sort of writer who churns out words with all the skill and finesse of a production line (I shan’t name best-selling names). I had been given instruction to be at Abram’s rooms by 1600, where we would don our garb for the evening. I had no idea what to expect, and I was even more surprised to discover that the shirt and trousers were actually quite simple. They lay folded on the todd’s bed, catching my eye and my curiosity.

“I mean no offense, when I say this,” I said hesitantly, “but I’m not at all sure why this required a tailor.”

The kitsune smiled warmly at me. “Out of your clothes first, and we’ll dress together.”

Which we did, after a prolonged exploration made of kisses and mutual petting that did a great deal to both calm and exhilarate me. When my mind cleared, I realized that my vulpine lover was helping me to reconnect and be comfortable, more confident, in my own body. I always felt good in his arms, not only because of our physical connection, but because of our emotional and spiritual ones as well. He always managed to make me feel linked directly to him, as if his magic binds us together. I trusted his word that would never to use his magic without my express approval; in these moments, he swears that he uses none of his kitsune magic, but love itself is magical, and that’s what we shared, then and always.

Chuckling softly at my resistance to bringing our sweet dalliance to a close (“for now”), Abram guided me in donning my duds. The clothing matched in style and contrasted in colors. The shirts were tunic-like in design, open at the front, with panels that overlapped, held in place by an ornate pair of closures called “frogs,” and with piping down the edges. This allowed for quite the revealing decollete, and I was delighted to see the effect on Abram, where the open portion of the shirt framed his lovely cream-colored chest fluff. The trousers were held in place by a cloth sash passed through belt loops, and the sash (after it was tied quite simply) was long enough to leave tassels of perhaps 20cm hanging down the leg. The kitsune showed me how to let them trail down in a manner he jokingly called “being dressed to the left.” He was well aware that I knew what the term usually refers to, and I will not reveal any secrets of that nature here, for either of us.

The colors were simple and muted. For myself, shirt and trousers of a deep-woods brown with piping, sash, and frogs of desaturated Prussian blue, to go with my eyes; for Abram, a forest green with sash and frogs of desaturated harlequin green, which reflected his own eyes. We stood before the mirror, looking at ourselves, at each other, and I felt an enormous swelling of my heart.

“Abram,” I breathed, “have I told you lately how much I love you?”

“With your every word, whisper, glance, and touch, my wolf.” His smile grew as he tenderly drew down my muzzle to his and gave me another long, lingering kiss. Withdrawing, he said, “Let us get our coats, and we’ll be away.”

“I don’t think I have a coat anywhere near worthy of this outfit.”

“Oh, you do.” His smile grew warmer and just a touch more sly. “We both do.”

Separating from our embrace, he took my forepaw in his and led me back into the living room. He made a call on the house phone, and in about a minute, we heard a knock at his door. Abram sang out with a conspiratorial “Come in,” and Phil entered, carrying two natural cloth garment bags.

“Holy gods,” the liger said, staring at us. “You two look incredible. Abram, are these outfits from your tailor?”

“They are indeed,” the fox allowed, “as are those coats you’ve brought up. Would you like to stay, to see the complete ensemble?”

“Absolutely!” Phil brought the bags over to the sofa, setting them side by side, unzipping each in its turn. “Would you like some help with these?”

“Bring out Tristan’s first; I suspect I’m more used to this style than he.”

Phil took from one of the garment bags something that made my jaw drop. As the liger held it up for me to get the full effect, Abram provided the explanation.

“It’s based on a design that I grew fond of, back in the Victorian and Edwardian eras. It’s known by several names, including ‘redingote,’ which is a corruption of ‘riding coat.’ Generally, it’s known by its collar style — a frock coat. Try it on.”

With the liger’s help, I shrugged into the garment. The short stiff collar would take some getting used to, as would the overall weight and cut of the coat itself. It hung down to just above my knee, front and back, while the ample venting at the back provided space for my tail to move comfortably and freely. The sleeves were long, with the turn-back cuffs ending precisely at my wrist. The coat had been tailored quite expertly, just for me. I came to understand why so many measurements had to be taken.

The brocade bore a base color of dark antique gold, with its raised paisley-shaped patterns no more than two shades lighter. Down the front, on the right, a column of seven polished pewter-colored buttons, each inscribed with a symbol I didn’t recognize at the time. These lay opposite ornate rope-like loops of black which, I presumed, could reach across to hold the coat closed. I noticed similar piping at the turn-back cuffs, and each cuff had a button like the seven on the coat.

Abram had donned his coat which, other than the size, was identical to my own. He smiled at me with loving approval. “Here, let me help you with those.”

He padded over to me and began matching buttons to closures. The coat fit perfectly, which made me think that at least I’d not put on weight since the visit to Silvio’s shop. The kitsune fastened his own closures faster than I could have done, for him or for myself. When we turned back toward Phil, the expression on his face might best be summed up by the word “gobsmacked.” When he finally was able to close his maw, the liger’s muzzle still bore a huge grin that seemed to stretch from ear to ear.

“Do you think any of the family is available?” Abram smiled knowingly.

“I suspect they will be, fast enough.” Phil made his way swiftly to the door, opened it, and made an impressive whistle that could probably be heard not just down the hallway but downstairs into the kitchen and dining area below as well. I had to assume at least one of our wonderful family heard it, as he said, “I’ve got something for you to see.” He turned back to us and waved us to join him.

Entering into the wide hallway of the living quarters floor, Abram and I found ourselves encountering first Theo, the young gray tabby of our family, and then Phil’s mate Helena, a fetching lioness even when she was looking astonished. She began to compliment us both while Theo dashed down the hallway, knocking on doors. Before long, we were being gawked at, cheered, whistled at… I think I even heard one bow-chikka-wow-wow somewhere. Micha and Markus wanted the name of the tailor, and I thought McHenry’s rabbit ears were going to stay straight up for a week. For myself, I couldn’t keep my tail still, and I was sure that no one could miss my blush even under my dark fur.

The applause is probably what brought others from their rooms and up from the dining area as well. The many who live here, along with the many who work here, cheered us like they were welcoming royalty, and I have to admit that I enjoyed every moment of it. We made our way downstairs and out the doors at the side of the building, near to where Abram’s car was parked in the space marked by the sign reading RESERVED 1. I well remembered seeing that sign on my first visit to The Menagerie, when Abram (as “Servo”) performed his signature dance for me alone in the wee hours of the morning. Memory swayed me almost enough to bowl me over. In many ways, my life had begun on that night, and my heart had been growing ever since.

Abram’s vehicle was akin to a Range Rover in size, power, and efficiency, yet I had the idea of it being made by someone other than that august company. At the kitsune’s suggestion, I loosened the coat’s fasteners before I settled myself into the spacious passenger seat. The comfortable cushions were covered in some material that made one think of smooth and perfect hide, yet it was not made from any animal (thank the gods); the vulpine joked that it was to remind him of a non-sapient horse for whom he cared, many years ago. Once we were belted in, he activated the nearly silent engine, backed out, and we were on our way.

“I can only imagine that this must be an exceptionally fancy restaurant,” I said, clearing my throat softly. “I hope I remembered to bring along my table manners.”

My host chuckled softly. “Tristan, my wolf, you are quite fine, just as you are. These clothes are a personal indulgence of mine, and I would wear them to a fast-food restaurant, if I so desired. I choose not to, if only to prevent both patrons and waitstaff of our local Burger Buddy or Taco Town from staring, thinking me to be some Hollywood celebrity or slumming royalty. I have my various indulgences, and I certainly don’t mind a good malt shop.”

That made me chuckle softly, as I remembered his dramatic rescue of Theo from the would-be clutches of his birth parents. “I’m guessing our destination is a bit more… upscale?”

“Let’s just say that I have my reasons for our clothing.”

“Do I want to know what they are?”

“Of course you do.” He glanced over at me, smiling. “Wolf with a bone, after all. I hope you’ll be patient with me; I’d like for it to be as much a surprise as the destination itself.”

“You mean I’m going to have to be adult about this?” My chuckle took any sting out of the comment. “I suppose that means that I also don’t get to keep repeating, ‘Are we there yet?’ every few seconds?”

“I will turn this car around!”

We both laughed at that one. Such shared references were a large part of why our relationship had grown so quickly and so deeply. It was rare in my life to find someone who was so well-versed in… well, everything. We began with a mutual need, moving to discover how much we already shared, then on to creating more, new, different things for us to share. As with so many works of creativity, it was an ongoing, evolving, living thing. I took another moment to be grateful.

“Okay,” I acquiesced. “In lieu of asking if we’re there yet, might I instead ask how long it might take us to get there?”

“Perhaps fifteen minutes, at a guess.”

“Nearby, then.”

Abram’s smile was properly enigmatic. “Not necessarily.”

I looked over at him, not nearly as alarmed as I would have been had we not had so much time to learn about one another. “I’m going to guess that this vehicle doesn’t have warp speed capability?”

“On backorder.”

“Nor does it have speeds measured in several hundreds of kilometers per hour?”

“Curving back roads make that problematic, especially if the inertial dampers are offline.”

“Along with the transporters, no doubt.” I breathed in deeply, let it out slowly, reminding myself of something singularly important. Smiling at the fox in the driver’s seat, I spoke of that something aloud: “I love you, three-tails.”

“I love you, too, sweetfur.” Keeping his eyes on the road, he reached across to me to offer a forepaw for me to hold. I took it with my own, and he gave me a little squeeze. “Do you remember that description you read to me, from Asimov? About the character’s reaction to the hyperspace jump?”

“The feeling of a little internal kick that was over before he was even sure he’d felt it.” I nodded. “I listened to a certain actor’s reading of those opening pages several times, so I remember it well.”

“Just know that we’re not leaving the planet.”

“So I’ll be able to breathe?” I chuckled softly. “I know you won’t let me get hurt, Abram. I shouldn’t make myself nervous by anticipating it.”

“Precisely my thinking. So it’s safe to tell you that we’ve already gone through the portal.”

“Seriously?”

He grinned, giving my paw another squeeze. “Look around. Feel the road. Do you remember anywhere near The Menagerie that has such winding roads?”

My curiosity seemed to take precedence over any fear that might have cropped up inside me. I managed to gather my senses to look more closely at our surroundings. First, I realized that it was darker than I would have credited for the time of day (a shift in time zones?). The trees encroaching upon the road were different from our local varieties, more like pines, or perhaps of that family. The road also had a gentle incline to it.

I breathed slowly, again reassured by the touch of Abram’s forepaw in my own. “I have the feeling that we might be getting closer to our destination.”

“Do you mean, ‘Are we there yet’?”

Our laughter merged even as the kitsune negotiated one more curve, and my laughter ended in a gasp of surprise. The turn had brought us in sight of what I could only describe as a castle. I had visited England and Ireland, in my remote youth, and I’d had the privilege of seeing a few castles and palatial estates. There is truly no such thing as a small castle, unless it is a miniature for a film. This structure gave the impression of being less imposing than the gargantuan Malbork Castle of Poland (with floor space estimated at well over 139,000 square meters) yet with a similar character to it, considering it’s facade and general design. We were still a short distance from this particular castle, so I had trouble judging its scope.

“It’s about 1800 square meters on the interior, if that’s any help.” Abram smiled, glancing quickly at me. “No magic needed; that’s often the first question that pops to mind. To put it in perspective that you’ll appreciate, Downton Abbey is roughly five times that size.”

“And this is a restaurant?” I could not keep the incredulity from my voice.

“Not exactly, and certainly not just a dining hall. It’s a fine place to dine, to relax, to greet old friends and new, to experience in many ways. It’s far too much to take in, in a single visit.” Another squeeze of my forepaw. “Yes, this is your first visit and, if you enjoy it, I promise that it will be far from your last.”

“If it is a tenth as magical as yourself, I will want to return as often as we can.”

He sniffed the air, noting, “Ooo, someone’s baking brownie points!” We joined in a laugh over another of our shared references before he gently retrieved his forepaw, the better to control the wheel of the vehicle. “I’ll wait until we’ve stopped to give you a proper kiss for such a superb compliment.”

Abram’s reference to Downton made me think of the huge, sweeping space of road that led to the front doors of that massive, sprawling building. This drive wasn’t as large, nor was it lit by torches, but the feeling was the same. After all, we weren’t pulling up in front of a hotel or a mere mansion; this was definitely a castle, by every description. The facade was stone, the windows appeared to be made of glass segments (some of them stained), held together with what looked like lead (which it couldn’t be: Lead doesn’t stick to glass), and aside from the sheer size of the place, there were actual turrets. I’d not have been surprised to find that the roof was a good 20m above us, but I’m a poor judge of distance. I did wonder how far one could see from the roof and, for that matter, just what one would be seeing. I had no way of telling exactly where we were.

We pulled up to the space before the large wooden double doors that were set in the center of the walls facing us, and a liveried young panda stood by, greeting us with a slight bow. I let myself out of my side of the car and joined the kitsune in time to hear the panda say, “Good evening and well met, gentlefurs. Welcome to Mantrin’s Keep.”

“Thank you, good fur,” Abram offered. “I trust she is in residence and in good health?”

“Most robust, if I may venture to say, sir.”

“I daresay you’re right.” The kitsune smiled. “Thank you for seeing to the car.”

Again bowing slightly in acknowledgement, the panda moved to ensconce himself in the driver’s seat. As the near-silent vehicle pulled away, making only soft crunches in the gravel of the driveway, Abram turned me toward him and buttoned up the coat with just enough deliberation to make me feel a blush rise once more to my cheeks. He smiled at me, patting the coat gently before doing up his own buttons.

“First, I believe I offered you a thank-you.”

I leaned down to accept his thanks, doing my best to be sure my toes weren’t curling too much. We managed to end the kiss without either of us being utterly incapable of walking.

“Now, sweetfur,” he said, taking up my arm in his, “allow me the privilege and the pleasure of being seen with you.”

The happy blush, I was now convinced, would never leave me.

Before us, the doors opened slowly inward, then were held for us by a pair of lean, well-formed felines, a puma and a panther, both bearing a livery like the young panda. Clearly too proper to make much outward sign of it, they nevertheless marked the two of us with subtle smiles and a certain glint in the eyes. Abram nodded to them, addressed each by name as we walked into the entry hall. I didn’t make note of the names; I was too busy working to keep my jaw from dropping down to my navel.

It would be impossible to detail everything that I saw there. Nothing was garish; it was all neatly coordinated, not the least bit ostentatious. The space itself easily could have held a half-dozen couples without crowding, yet it wasn’t cavernous. Quietly ornate tables held vases with modest bouquets of silk flowers, but only one vase for each of the four tables, two on each side. The flooring was carpeted, not too thickly, but comfortable either for hooves or hindpaws. Lighting, provided by wall sconces and hidden ceiling lights, was soft, yet it was enough for me to see everything well.

All was simple enough, in its way. What made the space so mesmerizing was the pastel frescos on the wall. The pictures might well have been of scenes from around the castle grounds — a grotto, a garden, a lawn where tennis was played, another that I recognized as a cricket pitch, a view of the forest around us, a pond or small lake that included a modest waterfall. Each was populated with males and females of many species, some or many of whom might have been visitors to this castle at some time. Each was togged in any manner of dress, all seeming quite merry in their pursuits.

They were all moving.

Fortunately for me, my escort continued to support me on his arm. I’m about 20cm taller than he, yet he was very much supporting me. I tried to look everywhere at once, watching scenes unfold, each in its own time. I tried to imagine some sort of incredible projection system, but the images were too perfect, too smooth, and light-based projection could not help being interfered with by passing heads and tails. Rear-projection? LCD? No, the walls were walls, not screens, and there was no means I could imagine that would account for such a truly magical…

Even though it’s always a pleasant experience, I truly don’t spend all of my time glancing at Abram’s tails. Glancing peripherally, I became aware that all three of his were on display. He smiled at me.

“Snap.”

…to be continued