Walking over and kneeling down by the man’s face, Wynn reached out a hand and patted his cheek, gently saying, “I bet you are just feeling down in the dumps because you do not really have any friends. I kept waiting for somebody to sit down with you at that big table, but no one did, even when things got crowded. Maybe you should think about being a little more approachable in your life, and you will not be so lonely.”

  The waitress’s unmistakable look of pity seemed to hit the Armorer harder than any of the angry responses that had come from either Zhanna or Genevieve. The man was totally disarmed, his carefully-held shield of anger and disdain crumbling around him.

  Realizing that Wynn had the situation in control, Dascha moved back away from the man, leaving him frozen on the floor. It was as if the sad, pitying look on the face of the young woman was a more powerful restraint than the immense cat had been.

  All of the Witches in the room heard Dascha’s approving comment, << You go, girl! All the fighting in the world was not going to get past that man’s prickly barriers. With just a few words, you might have actually gotten through to the man that is hiding inside all of that bluster! >>

  Wynn kept speaking as she continued to gently stroke the side of the man’s face. In her sweet but firm voice, she said, “I think it is still possible at this point in your life to learn how to be friendlier. You have to be very smart to become a Master Armorer, but that is not who you are entirely. Not once in all of this yelling and screaming have you said your name. None of us know anything about you as a person. Instead, all we see is the illusion built from allowing your occupation to strangle the man inside. Perhaps you should think about how to be that man before you think about donning the façade of your job.”

  Amused, Madrik watched as the man’s eyes bulged almost out of his head, and his mouth opened and closed wordlessly as the waitress got up and resumed bringing drinks to the suddenly thirsty patrons. Looking helplessly around the room at the many people that were ignoring him, the Master Armorer stumbled his way back to his table.

  Grabbing his partially-filled mug of beer, the big man drained it in a single enormous gulp. Taking a deep breath, he once more began to focus on his anger. Now visibly furious again, he turned a hot glare on the small group of women that were still talking. Suddenly feeling exposed, the angry man glanced around the room but did not see the enormous cat that had attacked him.

  His suddenly triumphant expression and straightened posture indicated his renewed sense of empowerment as he narrowed his eyes at the Clothier and ground out in a low tone, “Just you wait, girly!”

  So suddenly that many a mercenary jumped or ducked in surprise, a flashing construct of highly polished steel flashed across the room. Arrowing toward the inattentive bully, Gingher’s flying blades swooped down in an arc that cut across the front of the man’s face. The presence of the rapidly moving metal so close to his vulnerable eyes made the man jerk his head back in reaction, leaving the lower part of his head exposed.

  There was a flurry of clicking sounds before Gingher once more swooped into oblivion, sliding his length back into the Clothier’s pocket. The now confused man had straightened and was glancing wildly around the room, looking for the source of the attack. For a moment, everyone stared at him in shock.

  Until that moment, the lower part of the man’s face had been covered in a dense and bushy beard. Red in hue and threaded with grizzled grayish-white, it had been part of his overall presence, lending him a grim and dangerous air. Now all that had changed.

  Instead of the wild appearance of an untrimmed beard, the man’s face now displayed short and closely trimmed facial hair. The lips that had looked powerful and grim as they peeked through the thicket of his beard were now visible. Well-formed and full, they were the perfect accompaniment to the handsomely cleft chin and dimples that adorned each of his cheeks.

  It may have been the accumulated weight of everyone’s gaze, or even the unusual feeling of air moving over exposed skin, but the big man’s eyes widened, and he reached both hands up to grab his jawline in shock.

  “My beard! What happened to my beard?” the Armorer screamed. Unnoticed by anyone other than the BHB, the Clothier’s expression morphed into a satisfied smile, and she patted the hard outline of her assistant through the fabric of her garment.

  Warned by the flash of anger mixed with gleeful satisfaction that he got from the BHB along their bond, the Anchor glanced around the taproom, attempting to see what his partner was doing. Sliding past Brechal’s furious expression, the bar manager wondered briefly around a clenched stab of worry if it was going to be possible to avoid an outright riot.

  A hint of movement made Madrik’s focus lock onto what appeared to be three tendrils of a woody vine that were shifting in a coordinated ballet of twisting movement. Confused as to the purpose of the BHB’s actions, Madrik stared for an instant before his confusion resolved, and he could see what the BHB was doing.

  Madrik could not help himself. The BHB’s Anchor began to laugh helplessly, pointing toward the back of the bar behind Brechal. Caught in paroxysms of mirth so intense that he was unable to say a word, tears poured down the bar manager’s face as he looked at the moving trio of vines as the BHB threaded the missing beard hair around a picture of the back end of a donkey.

  There was another stunned silence before the entire taproom filled with uproarious laughter. Under the cover of noisy mirth and commentary, the young Russian Witch grabbed her bale of leather up from the table.

  Moving in a direct but unobtrusive path, Genevieve, Zhanna, and Dascha made their escape toward the Clothier’s studio, sweeping the female mercenary, Dorinda, with them.

  Chapter 42 – Design Decisions

  Clothier’s Studio, Badger Hole

  Genevieve almost collided with the front door into her studio with the emotion-driven speed of her walk. Luckily, Doucette had been fretting about her absence and was hypersensitive to the roiling turbulence of her emotions as the Clothier approached. Even with that advantage, the sentient building barely managed to open the door before she would have smashed into it.

  The determined woman had not even come to a stop before she was mobbed by her concerned assistants, joined by the pair of waiting Persian cats. Their voices raised in a cacophony of comments and impassioned pleas for information assailed her ears. The sheer volume of the noise caused Zhanna and Dascha to cringe as they and the female mercenary, Dorinda, followed close on Genevieve’s heels, stopping just inside the door.

  << Genevieve! Are you all right? My beloved Anchor, what has happened to distress you so much? >> asked Doucette, sounding extremely concerned.

  The Clothier ran her intent gaze around her studio, but it was apparent that she was not focusing on anything that was actually present. Instead, she seemed to be sorting through her mind, and everyone in the room that had a sensitivity to Magic could sense the sharp and potent reaches of her Power as far-off complex tasks were initiated and completed.

  Realizing that he would not distract the Clothier with the conversation, Gingher gave a snappy recounting of everything that had occurred after Genevieve had taken off for the Badger Hole Bar. Zhanna and Dascha supplemented his tale in several places, but his complete and concise summary assuaged the sentient building's concern while simultaneously drawing the entire team together in outrage.

  << How dare that buffoon, that idiot, try to harm either the young Witch or our Mistress! I am so glad that you taught him a lesson, Gingher. I only wish we could all have been there to help! >> sputtered Henri.

  Yoko was muttering what sounded like curses in Japanese while Isaac rumbled in a low dangerous tone, his gears clashing with angry, percussive noises. However, the intense emotions that all but exploded from Doucette were the most truly dangerous. Immediately, Zhanna tried to diffuse what could be a murderous reaction.

  The young Witch quickly laid her burden of leather on the cutting table in the middle of the Clothier’s studio, following it almost immediately with the shielded bag of artifacts from her belt. Taking a deep breath, the woman opened her mind to the fuming building. When she was not smashed back for her effrontery, Zhanna made sure that she was centered and connected to her Familiar before she began to speak with Doucette.

  Tentatively, because she had never before talked directly to Doucette, the young Witch said softly, << I think that Genevieve is going to let her work answer the undisciplined and uninformed man in the most thorough and humiliating way. It seems to me that such embarrassment would be far more appropriate. To make him suffer so publicly is far crueler than killing him. This way, his punishment will last far longer rather than just an instant of agony. >>

  Dascha purred her agreement, before adding, << Genevieve is definitely Gallic in her response and attitude. Even more catlike in her revenge. We always play with our prey. Just pouncing on it and killing it is far less satisfying. So, Pretty Boy, you have the perfect Anchor for you. One that understands style and fashion, as well as having a good grasp of the politics of relationships. >>

  TT and Jack broke their silence to chime in their agreement to Dascha’s statements. Jack snarled his reinforcement, saying << Play with him, make him burn. Attack a bully’s weak spots and make them suffer. That way, there is a possibility that he learns, but if he does not change, he will still hurt! >>

  The white Persian had a more emotional response, hissing, << I will help her destroy him! No one asked him for his stupid opinions, and he seems like one of those people that keeps hurting others to make himself feel better. >> The Persian would have said more except that Doucette cut in on her statements in horrified exasperation.

  << Pretty Boy? Since when do I have a nickname like that? >> sputtered Doucette.

  << What else would I call you? You have a beautifully architected building, the textiles within it are utterly scrumptious, and you are male. Face it, you are stuck with the nickname. At least with me! >>

  Doucette laughed, and the dangerous buildup of his anger dissipated. Pleased that her cat Familiar had been so adroit, Zhanna turned her attention back to where Genevieve was standing, her focus still directed elsewhere.

  When the Clothier showed no response, Zhanna began to unpack the bale of leather. As she pulled the first couple of thin and fragile-looking skins from the bundle and laid them on the worktable, a noticeable hum rose from the walls and floor of the building. Immediately, Doucette’s mental voice demanded, << What is that material? It sort of looks like leather, but it is not. How strong is it? And how much will it bend? >>

  As soon as Doucette started to speak, Henri slid the length of his body onto that surface of one of the pieces of leather. Sliding across it in a sensuous dance of discovery, the sentient tape measure was cooing in French, << Mon amour, quelle merveilleuse texture pour ta peau! Je peux dire que nous serons les meilleurs amis! >>

  Zhanna answered Doucette apologetically, << I am sorry, but I do not know. Villi, the Land Kraken that lives on my land, has been experimenting with this type of cured hide. He says that it has some very unusual properties. It occurred to him that it might be helpful in the garment that Genevieve wishes to craft. I hope so because that will give us another product to sell. >>

  Gingher was also enthralled by the new material. However, he was more curious than anything. Tipping one of his blades underneath the leather, Gingher squeezed gently to see if his enhanced sharpness would cut through the material. When that was unsuccessful, the sentient shears pressed harder, again to no avail.

  After a few attempts, Gingher backed up abruptly and disengaged the jaws of his blades from the leather. Murmuring softly in distress, he opened and shut his blades multiple times. Zhanna heard him mumble awkwardly, << Now, my jaw hurts! I could have broken my blades! >>

  Isaac’s gears produced a roaring sound, and he demanded, << Gimme, Gimme! I want to try it! >> Yoko responded with a frustrated snap, << if my pins do not even scratch it, your needles will do nothing but break! >>

  Sparkles seem to be coming off the fabrics that were stacked against the walls, and Zhanna could hear the excitement that was growing in Doucette’s mental tones. His enthusiasm also clearly sounded as he asked in a greedy voice, << What is in the bag? Is that more fabric? >>

  << No, those are artifacts that I created that will help TT and Jack on their journey if Genevieve can manage to set them into the protective garment that she wants to create for the cats. They are the first ones I have ever made, but all of my instructors tell me that they are perfect. I am afraid none of them are very powerful at this point, >> replied Zhanna.

  << May I see them? Please? >> Doucette asked. Zhanna immediately untied the bag and spilled the results of her labor into her hands. The young Witch had chosen highly polished gemstones as the foundation of her artifacts, and the end products glistened in her grasp, shining with both Magic and scintillating light.

  From over by the front window where Dorinda had taken refuge in a comfortable chair came an amazed gasp. Even Dascha had jerked upright in surprise at the appearance of the artifacts. The light of both Magic and gathered illumination grew until small triangular forms of bright, packaged light dappled the surfaces within the studio.

  Called back to herself by the presence of strong Magic within her space, Genevieve’s voice was soft in wonder as she said, “How beautiful! Were they this lovely when you started or did your Magic change them?” The Clothier’s gaze seemed to be caught, especially by the intense blue of some of the gems.

  Smiling in thankfulness, Zhanna replied, “Welcome back, Genevieve. I was getting a bit worried there for a while. However, to answer your question, I think it is a little bit of both. I chose stones that were as flawless as I could find because Magic tends to strain crystalline structures. I did not want an attack to be able to exploit a weak part in the foundation on which I laid my spell. I also tried to make sure that any repeated-use casting was unable to cause a sudden disruption of the structure. My teachers believe that such an event would most likely kill the bearer as well as anyone around them. Not addressing that seemed shortsighted and definitely not a smart way to go into battle.”

  The Clothier delicately picked up each gem and examined it, laying them into groups based on color. The rest of the beings in the studio were content to let the woman take her time, waiting silently for her comments and directions.

  Deeply intent, Genevieve finished her examination of the gems and turned her attention toward the two cured hides that were laid out. Picking up the supple material, she held it in her hand for a moment letting her fingers explore its crushability and flexibility. Next, the Clothier brought the leather closed her face and sniffed it, allowing the aroma that clung to the material seep into her soul.

  Closing her eyes, the Clothier slid first one side of the fabric against her cheek before turning the leather over and repeating the motion with the second surface. Lost in the experience, Genevieve let out an involuntary moan of pleasure.

  From the dreamy and pleased movements of Genevieve’s face, Zhanna was reasonably sure that Doucette and his Anchor were rapidly discussing the young Witch’s offering in a bond that was only for those two. The Clothier’s expression seemed to settle, and she laid the hides back down on her working table.

  Chapter 43 – Feline Fashion

  Clothier’s Studio, Badger Hole

  Glancing around at the occupants of her studio, Genevieve was in total artistic creation mode as she pointed commandingly at Dascha, saying, “Since you are a more practiced combatant, I will do yours first. You said that you had some training to do for TT and Jack. Therefore, once we have done some preliminary verification that the battledress is acceptable, I will then create the other two feline battledress garments.”

  After a brief pause, the Clothier’s face altered. With a sparkle in her eye and a dangerous grin, she looked around the room and then said in an anger-tinged voice, “We will show that buffoon, that idiot, that we do not have to beat metal into flat plates to provide protection! He will be sorry that he ever was so unforgivably rude!”

  TT immediately added, << We have two mercenaries that are going with us to help. If there is any leftover leather or artifacts, could you make them something also? >>

  Genevieve asked, << Who are the two mercenaries that will be going with you? >>

  << Gennady and Fyodor. Do we need to get them here for measurements? >>

  Henri immediately said, << We have their measurements already. We keep figure charts for all of the active mercenaries of the Guild so that we can be responsive to their needs. >>

  Zhanna was conscious of Dorinda’s beseeching glances and reminded Genevieve, “If there are any scraps that can be made into something for Dorinda, that would be helpful. She has to leave on an assignment and is quite concerned about the level of her protection. I would hate for her to have to rely on that idiot of an Armorer for anything.”

  Smiling mischievously, Genevieve uttered a laugh before saying, “I am not worried about running out of material. I do not believe you understand exactly how much you have brought here. We will run out of your handy artifacts long before we decimate all of this wonderful and versatile material you have supplied.”

  Reassured, Zhanna moved over to sit in the chair that had appeared next to Dorinda and prepared to watch the show. Henri thoughtfully pulled a small cart with two glasses of water for the ladies and turned his attention back to his Anchor.

  The Clothier and her assistants huddled briefly next to the cutting table before moving to what appeared as carefully chosen positions distributed around the room. Standing next to the cutting table, Genevieve pointed commandingly at first toward Dascha and then the center of the table. Without saying a word, Dascha leaped lightly into position, staring calmly and trustingly into the Clothier’s eyes.