12. Linden
Linden
Fixing the glass on the conservatory was going to be grueling work and Cass was gonna have to do it all by himself.
My dryad magic was great at growing trees, removing pollution, or healing wounds.
However, I had absolutely zero talent when it came to the manipulation of silica at extremely high temperatures. Fire just wasn’t in my wheelhouse.
“Okay, so here’s the incantation,” I said, laying out the spellbook on the table between Cass and I. “We’re going to have to draw some magic circles on your palms since there’s so much to do. It’ll be easier than trying to construct one everywhere we go. And you’ll need a wand. A thick one.”
He raised an eyebrow. “A thick wand? Is that supposed to be code for something?”
I cocked my head to the side. “No. Painting molten glass into place is heavy work. A thin wand will snap.”
“Never mind,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “I’ll learn this spell if you can find me my chode wand.”
I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing.
Of course Cass would turn even wand selection into something suggestive.
It was becoming increasingly clear that his constant jokes or grumpiness was his way of deflecting when he was nervous about something new.
And learning glasswork was definitely new territory for him.
“Come on,” I said, leading him over to the storage cabinet where Professor Paulson kept the teaching supplies. “I think we have some decent options in here.”
I pulled open one of the drawers and found several wands of varying thickness and material. Most were made from wood, though a few were crafted from bone or crystal. I selected one made from thick oak, the kind that wouldn’t flex or bend under pressure.
“This should work,” I said, handing it to him.
Cass took it and gave it an experimental wave, his expression skeptical. “It’s heavier than I expected.”
“That’s the point,” I explained, moving back to the spellbook.
“The weight helps distribute the magic more evenly. And glass is heavy, so it won’t bend under the pressure.
Now, before we do anything else, I need to draw the circles on your palms. They’re going to help channel your magic into something more precise. Something you can control.”
He held out his hands, and I noticed they were steady.
That was good. Whatever nervousness he was feeling, he was managing it well.
I pulled out a small vial of a special ink infused with silver, and carefully began to draw the intricate symbols on his palms. Each line had to be perfect, each curve precisely measured.
One mistake and the entire spell could fall apart.
As I worked, I was acutely aware of how close we were. How the warmth of his hands contrasted with the cool ink I was applying. How he was watching me intently, his green eyes tracking every movement of my brush. How small his hands felt in mine.
“This is going to feel strange,” I warned as I finished the final details on his left palm.
“Already does,” he said, his voice a little rougher than usual. “What happens if I mess this up?”
“Then we start over,” I said simply, moving to his right palm. “Magic is trial and error. Even the best practitioners mess up sometimes. Professor Paulson has told me stories about spells gone wrong that would make your hair curl.”
“Great,” he muttered. “No pressure then.”
“You can’t hurt the greenhouse now,” I said, doing my best to make it sound reassuring instead of accusatory. “So just do your best.”
I finished the circles and stepped back to admire my work.
The silver symbols glowed faintly against his skin, pulsing with potential magic waiting to be channeled.
They were beautiful, actually. I hadn’t expected that, but there was something elegant about the way the designs complemented the natural lines of his palms.
“They look cool,” Cass said, flexing his fingers experimentally. “I can feel something. Like... electricity, maybe? But not aggressive. More like a hum.”
“That’s a good start,” I nodded. “That means I did the circles correctly.”
I handed him the spellbook and watched as he studied the incantation, his brow furrowing in concentration.
The words were in an older dialect, the kind that most practitioners spent years learning to pronounce correctly.
But Cass was determined, I could see it in the set of his jaw, the way he was mouthing the words silently to himself. Thankfully, the spell was a short one.
“Okay,” he said finally, looking up from the page. “I think I’ve got it. What do I do first?”
I led him over to a damaged glass panel that had been carefully leaned against the western wall.
It was warped and blackened, completely unusable in its current state.
But that was the point. We needed to practice on something that was already ruined before moving on to the actual reconstruction work using raw silica.
“Place your wand against the glass,” I instructed. “Feel for the magic in the circles. Let it flow from your wand into the material.”
Cass approached the panel cautiously, as if it might bite him. He pressed his wand tip against the warped surface and I watched as the silver symbols began to glow brighter, responding to his touch.
“Now speak the incantation,” I said quietly. “Don’t rush it. Let each word settle into the magic before moving to the next.”
He took a deep breath and began to recite.
His pronunciation was rough, the words tumbling out in a slightly different accent than the traditional one, but the magic didn’t seem to care.
The glass beneath his hands began to shimmer, the blackened edges starting to fade as they heated up.
I could feel the magic working, the way his power was being siphoned and controlled for a specific use for once.
The warped panel heated up until it was a dull orange. With the thick wand, Cass was able to manipulate the glass, straightening out the twisted edges. For a moment, I thought it was actually working. Then there was a sound like ice cracking, and the entire panel shattered into a thousand pieces.
Cass jumped back with a curse. “What the hell just happened?”
“You lost concentration,” I said, moving closer to examine the fragments. “The heat has to stay steady and constant. If you let it cool too fast or make the glass too uneven, it’ll shatter.”
“I thought I was being gentle,” he protested, but I could hear the frustration creeping into his voice. “I did exactly what you told me to do.”
“I know,” I said, and I meant it. “But your magic doesn’t know how to be gentle yet.
Or specific. That’s why we’re practicing on the broken stuff first.” I met his eyes.
“Try again. This time, imagine you’re painting instead of commanding.
Think about it like you’re coaxing the glass into shape rather than forcing it.
And don’t forget to keep the power flowing evenly so it stays hot. ”
He looked like he wanted to argue, but instead he just grabbed another damaged panel and set it in front of him. This time his approach was different. His hands moved more slowly, more deliberately. When he spoke the incantation, his voice was softer, less aggressive.
The glass began to glow again, this time with a more controlled warmth.
I watched as Cass worked, his entire body focused on the task at hand.
The panel heated slowly, evenly, and I could feel the difference in his magic immediately.
It was still wild, still untamed, but there was intention behind it now. Purpose.
Slowly, carefully, he began to reshape the warped edges. The thick wand moved with surprising grace, and I found myself holding my breath as the glass responded to his touch. It was working. Actually working. The panel was still malformed, but it was no longer shattered into a million pieces.
When he finished and stepped back, the panel had cooled to a more manageable temperature. It wasn’t perfect. The surface was still uneven and there were a few small cracks forming along the edges. But it was infinitely better than the first attempt.
“That was better,” I said, and I could see the relief wash over his features.
“It didn’t shatter,” he said, like he was surprised by this development. “That’s... something, I guess.”
“It’s more than something,” I corrected, moving closer to examine his work. “You’re learning. And fast, actually. Glasswork is highly specialized.”
He looked down at the panel, flexing his fingers. The silver circles on his palms were still glowing faintly, pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat. “How many of these am I going to have to do?”
I glanced around the greenhouse at the empty sockets in the metal frame where the glass used to be before the lightning. There had to be at least fifty holes, maybe more. Each one would need to be painted into place. Some of them were easily forty feet off the ground too.
“A lot,” I admitted. “But we can work on this over the next week or so. We don’t have to do it all today.”
“Good,” he said, setting the wand down carefully. “Because my hands are already starting to hurt and I think I’m going to need a break.”
I nodded, understanding. Channeling magic through the circles took effort, especially when you weren’t used to it. “Come on. Let’s go relax for a bit.”
I led him back to the lab where we’d mixed the salve for his blisters.
He collapsed onto the stool like his legs had given out, and I couldn’t help but smile at how dramatically he was reacting to the exertion.
It was endearing, actually. The way he threw himself into things despite his constant complaining.
I filled a glass with water from the tap and handed it to him. He drained it in one long gulp, and I watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed with the motion. A single drop escaped the corner of his mouth and trailed over his jaw and down his neck. For some reason, it kind of turned me on.
“You did good work,” I said, refilling the glass for him. “Really. You should be proud.”
He looked up at me with those green eyes, and I felt that familiar flutter in my chest. “I’m only doing this because I have to.”
“Yeah, but you’re actually trying,” I replied. “And I appreciate that. This place is special to me, so I’m glad you’re trying to fix it.”
He set the empty glass down and leaned back on the stool, his head tilting back slightly as he stretched his neck. The movement exposed the line of his throat, and I had to force myself to look away before my thoughts went somewhere they probably shouldn’t.
“So what happens next?” he asked, his eyes closed. “Do we just keep practicing on broken glass until I’m good enough to do the real thing?”
“Pretty much,” I said, taking a seat next to him.
“Although, we might want to start introducing raw silica soon. Once you get the hang of the technique on damaged panels, the raw material will actually be easier to work with. It’s more malleable when it’s heated, but that makes it a little more unpredictable. ”
“Of course it is,” he muttered. “Why would anything about this be straightforward?”
I couldn’t help but smile at that. Despite his complaining, I could see how hard he was trying.
How much he actually cared about doing this right, even if he wouldn’t admit it out loud.
It was one of the things I was starting to like most about him.
He liked to pretend he hated everything, but he actually cared a lot more than he was willing to admit.
Without really thinking about it, I reached over and placed my hand on top of his thigh. “Thank you for helping me with this,” I said. “I really appreciate it.”
Cass stared at my hand for a moment before reaching down, grabbing me by the wrist, and pulling it higher up his thigh. I couldn’t help but gasp slightly as my pinky came to rest against the bulge in his jeans.
“If you’re going to touch me,” he grumbled, looking up at me. “Do it like you mean it.”
Heat flooded through my body all at once, my jeans suddenly tighter. Instinctively, I flexed my fingers, digging them into his thigh a little harder. “Like that?”
“Better,” he nodded.
I leaned forward, closing the distance between us until my lips were almost brushing against his ear. “We should probably get back to work,” I said, even as my hand stayed exactly where it was, my fingers tracing small circles against the denim of his jeans.
“Fuck work,” Cass breathed out, and then he was turning toward me, his hands coming up to grip my shoulders. He pulled me down, and I went willingly, my mouth meeting his in a kiss that was all lust and a large amount of tongue.
My free hand came up to cup the back of his head, my fingers threading through the soft dark strands of his hair. The sensation was starting to become addictive.
My hand that had been on his thigh moved upward, and I felt him gasp into the kiss as my palm pressed against his hardening cock. Through the barrier of his jeans, I could feel the head of his dick pulse against my hand. If I hadn’t been hard before, I was now.
“We should stop,” I murmured against his lips, even as I had no intention of stopping. “Someone could come in.”
“I don’t give a shit,” Cass said, pulling back just enough to look at me. His green eyes were dark with want, his cheeks flushed. “Do you?”
I considered lying. Considered doing the responsible thing and stepping back. But the truth was, I’d been thinking about this since our talk. I wanted to know if he meant it, that he wanted to give me the real college experience.
“I want to do this,” I said, forcing myself to pull away. “But we should go to my room first.” I looked into those beautiful green eyes of his. “I’ve never done this before so I might need some direction.”
Cass just grinned, kissing me again. “Well, good thing I love bossing people around.” He stood up, his jeans bulging obscenely, and held out a hand. “Come on. Let’s go.”