Chapter 36
Chapter Thirty Six
The box of craft supplies sat on her desk like a coiled viper waiting to strike.
Cassara glared at it from across the room, where she’d retreated after her third failed attempt at “simple leather wrapping.” Liri had made it look so easy. A little folding here, some careful stitching there, and voilà: a perfectly wrapped gift.
Cassara’s attempts looked like leather had gotten into a fight with itself and lost.
“One more try,” she muttered, approaching the desk with the same level of caution she’d use for a hostile beast. Oliver’s notes lay spread beside the disaster zone, his neat handwriting explaining mana-circuit integration with helpful diagrams. That part she’d managed.
The tiny tracking crystal now sat properly embedded in its magitech housing, calibrated to emit a unique signature that could be traced by its paired receiver.
She was quite proud of that bit. Oliver would be impressed that she’d managed the frequency alignment without his help.
It was everything else that was going wrong.
“Right.” She picked up the leather cord, eyeing it suspiciously. “You’re going to cooperate this time.”
The leather did not cooperate.
Ten minutes later, she’d somehow managed to wrap it sideways, creating lumpy bulges where the crystal housing showed through. The paint she’d tried to use for a decorative border had smeared, and—
“No, no, no- Flicker, don’t—”
Too late. Her familiar materialized directly on the workspace, silver paws landing squarely in the open paint pot. Blue paint. Expensive blue paint that was supposed to add “elegant detail.”
This is nice.
He chirped happily, then proceeded to walk across Oliver’s notes.
“You absolute menace!” Cassara lunged for him, but Flicker interpreted this as a game, bouncing away and leaving a trail of blue paw prints across her remaining clean leather. “That was my last piece!”
Flicker paused in his destruction to bat at a ribbon, sending it rolling off the desk and under her bed. When she dove to retrieve it, she heard the distinctive sound of a paint pot tipping over.
She emerged to find blue paint spreading across her desk like a small lake, Oliver’s notes now artistic interpretations of themselves, and Flicker sitting in the middle of it all, tail swishing with satisfaction.
“Don’t follow me,” she said flatly.
She gathered what supplies remained untainted, the wrapped (badly wrapped) tracking device, some backup leather scraps, fresh ribbon, and her last pot of paint, red, and fled her contaminated workspace.
The common room was empty and paint-free. She commandeered the large table, spreading everything out with military precision. This time would be different. This time she’d maintain control.
“Stay,” she commanded Flicker, who’d naturally followed despite being explicitly not invited.
I want to help.
“I don’t need help,” she insisted as she rewrapped the device, managing something that looked almost presentable if you squinted. The leather only bulged in two places instead of five. Progress. Now for the decorative elements.
The paint immediately pooled in all the wrong places. Somehow, somehow, it seeped into the tiny gaps in the housing, definitely contaminating the carefully calibrated mana channels. The device sparked once, weakly, and the leather wrapping came undone again.
“How is this harder than syncing an entire ACS array?” she demanded of the universe.
Flicker offered a helpful chirp and knocked over the ribbon spool with his nose.
By the time she’d rewrapped it, attempt number seven, added what might generously be called “decorative painting”—it looked like someone had sneezed color onto leather—and tied it with a ribbon that was definitely crooked, Cassara was ready to burn the entire craft industry to the ground.
She held up her creation and examined it.
It was… functional. Probably. The tracking spell still hummed beneath the paint-contaminated surface.
The leather wrapping held if you didn’t look too closely at where she’d given up and just tied extra knots.
The painted design could be interpreted as abstract art if you were feeling generous.
Or drunk.
Possibly both.
“He’ll hate it,” she told Flicker, who was now decorated with several paint colors himself. “It looks like I let you make it.”
What’s wrong with that? Flicker preened, apparently taking this as a compliment.
She set the poorly wrapped gift aside and surveyed the carnage. Paint on the table. Leather scraps everywhere. Ribbon in places ribbon should not be able to reach.
This was supposed to be simple. A thoughtful, practical gift that showed she’d been paying attention, that she cared about his safety, that she—
Footsteps in the corridor made her freeze.
No. No, no, no. Everyone was supposed to be gone. The common room was supposed to be empty. She looked around wildly at the disaster zone she’d created, then at herself: paint under her nails, bits of leather in her hair, one sleeve rolled up and the other mysteriously stained red.
The door opened.
Gideon paused in the doorway, surveying the scene with raised eyebrows.
His gaze traveled from the paint-splattered table to the leather scraps scattered like confetti, to Flicker, now rainbow-colored, and finally to Cassara herself, frozen mid-reach for a ribbon that had somehow ended up stuck to her elbow.
“Should I come back later?” he asked, fighting a smile. “After the explosion finishes?”
“It’s a controlled crafting environment,” Cassara said, immediately shifting to block his view of the table. Behind her back, she frantically swept the wrapped device under a pile of leather scraps. “And it’s private. You should go.”
“Private?” He stepped fully inside, closing the door behind him. “Is that why you murdered a craft store in the common room?”
“I didn’t murder anything.” She sidled along the table, keeping herself between him and her disaster. “Flicker knocked over some paint. In my room. So I had to relocate.”
“Ah.” Gideon’s gaze tracked to where Flicker sat perched on the sofa arm, tail swishing proudly. “And he followed you here to continue his reign of terror?”
“He’s helping,” Cassara said, still maintaining her human shield position. “From over there. Away from the… project.”
“Projects,” Gideon corrected, circling toward the seating area. “Plural. Unless all of this destruction is for one project?”
“Maybe I’m making several.” She moved with him, maintaining her human shield position. The common room suddenly felt much smaller with this ridiculous dance. “It’s efficient. Mass production.”
“Mass destruction, more like.” He changed direction, heading for the other side of the table.
Cassara darted that way too, nearly tripping over a chair in her haste. “Don’t you have formations to plan? Maps to brood over?”
“Finished this morning.” He was definitely enjoying this now, the corner of his mouth curling into a smile. “I thought I’d take a walk. Imagine my surprise when I heard what sounded like someone fighting furniture.”
“I wasn’t fighting—” She cut off as he feinted left then went right, nearly getting past her guard. She grabbed a paint-stained cloth and threw it over the suspicious lump of leather scraps. “Would you stop moving?”
“Would you stop acting like you’re hiding a body?”
“I’m not hiding anything!”
Flicker chose that moment to hop from the sofa to the table, landing directly on her cloth-covered secret. The impact sent a small spark of mana fizzling out from beneath.
They both stared at it.
“That’s…” Cassara began.
“Sparking,” Gideon finished. “Your nothing is sparking.”
“It’s supposed to do that.” Another fizzle, this one larger. “Mostly.”
He stepped closer, and she had nowhere left to retreat unless she wanted to climb onto the table itself. Which she considered.
“Cass,” he said. “I’m not going to judge whatever craft massacre you’re attempting. Though I am curious why it’s trying to set itself on fire.”
“It’s not—” She pressed her hands flat on the cloth, trying to smother the sparking. “It’s just… temperamental. Like everything else today.”
“Including you?”
“Especially me.” She glared up at him, very aware that he was now close enough to see the full scope of her disaster. “This was supposed to be simple.”
His expression softened further. “What was?”
“I can’t tell you that,” she said, then immediately wanted to kick herself. Way to make it obvious she was making something secret.
“Ah.” His eyes lit with understanding. “Gift making. That explains the devastation.”
“I don’t need help,” she said quickly, even as another spark escaped her smothered project.
“Of course not.” He moved to the chair across from her, settling in with the air of someone who had nowhere else to be. “I’ll just sit here. In case your nothing achieves full combustion.”
“It’s not going to—” A particularly enthusiastic spark shot out. “Oh, for the love of—”
She yanked the cloth away, revealing her lumpy, paint-splattered disaster. The leather wrapping had come partially undone again, and somehow there was now blue paint on parts that had definitely been clean before.
“Don’t look at it,” she ordered, gathering it protectively against her chest.
“Bit late for that.” But he obligingly focused on her face instead. “Though I’m more concerned about why you look like you’ve been in battle.”
She glanced down at herself, properly taking in the damage. It was worse than she’d thought. “Leather is vindictive. Like ice.”
“Starting to sense a pattern with you and inanimate objects.” He leaned back in his chair, apparently settling in for the long haul. “Sure you don’t need help?”
“No.”
“Honest? Because from here it looks like the leather is winning.”
“I said no.” She turned her back to him, trying to rewrap the stupid thing one-handed while keeping it hidden. The leather immediately rebelled, unfurling with what felt like malicious glee.