Jon protested again, but as instinct reasserted itself she sighed and smiled at this latest wish. She'd known Karyn for years, and if Karyn wanted this, well, it wasn't quite what she'd hoped for but she'd take it.
It was a long and interesting night. Jon felt glad they'd grabbed the stone on the way off the boat. At some point night officially ended and the wishes reversing her and Karyn wore off, but they managed not to notice. The moons were, after all, still in the sky.
Back on the boat and mostly human again, they slept through half the day and woke to find they had an entourage. Outside the boat on the swells of green water floated a dozen otters, sometimes ducking in and out of the waves together like the back of a sea serpent. Jon stared down at them while willing his whiskers and claws to go away; they wouldn't.
Karyn had the same problem, but shrugged and ignored it. "Good morning!" she said, dancing to the white portside railing near him.
Jon whistled, remembering the night, and uncertainly wrapped an arm around Karyn's shoulder. "Strange," he said, looking down.
"Are you feeding them?" she asked.
"No. Then what could --" Jon stopped and blinked as Karyn hopped over the rail and into the midst of their guests, changing in midair. She started talking with them, and Jon listened to the strange double-sound of otter noises overlaid with a translation.
Karyn looked up and called, "Your 'friends' and some others are around here. They want to know how to make boats like ours."
"Well, we could give them the --"
"Ssh!" Karyn yelled.
"I was kidding."
"We could teach 'em, then."
"Hey, yeah!" Karyn busied herself talking to the otters, then swam to the metal ladder at the stern, went humanoid, and climbed. "We'll build a school!"
Jon remembered that they were supposed to be in school themselves, somewhere far far away. "Geology," he muttered, "and Inca history..." Karyn went past him, ambushed him with a sideways hug while he was still lost in thought, and went into the cabin. Jon looked down and told their prospective students, "Okay. I guess we're qualified to teach otter-level courses."
#
Jon and Karyn sent their guests away to give them a day to plan. Until sunset at least, Jon thought, as he realized the moons would still be full. "You know, Karyn, tonight..."
She sat at a table in the cabin while he paced. "I know. But it won't affect us if we don't change, right? 'Course I can't get rid of these whiskers -- or the ears, now." Karyn scratched with a clawtip at the fuzzy ears on her whiskered but otherwise human head. "I'd wish them away, but the wish would probably hit some loophole and blow a hole in reality."
Jon opened a soda from the infinite icechest they'd made, and sat on the locker where the stone was kept. He'd been sure they hadn't brought the thing with them last night, yet they'd had it when Karyn decided to get playful revenge for his accidentally ditching her. Did that mean anything? Meanwhile he let Karyn handle most of the plans for a little school, half on the beach and half underwater, where they'd teach raft-building and whatever else they felt like doing. He chipped in once in a while with what he remembered from Boy Scout training -- cutting wood, tying logs together. Of course they could wish whatever they wanted into existence, or just make a whole cruise ship for the otters, so what was the point of teaching them?
It would make him feel useful, at least.
Late that afternoon Jon took a nap, banking against whatever they'd end up doing tonight. He took the upper left bunk in the large hold below decks. Tossing and turning, he dreamed of something that vanished the moment he woke up. As he sat up in bed, his weight shifted in a way that felt wrong. He still couldn't make his claws and whiskers go away, or his ears now, but that wasn't all. When he dressed, his pants felt tight around the hips.
Jon climbed the stairs two at a time and threw open the locker to find the wishing stone. Karyn wasn't there. Red sunset light filled the cabin.
"Stone -- I wish I knew what was going -- no, I wish you'd tell me --" Any mis-wording would probably make things worse. "I wish I knew what I most needed to know now."
A voice from nowhere told him, "The exact time is unavailable unless wished otherwise, but for a normal, non-wish-affected otter, 290 to 380 days is the typical gestation period."
