Unpredictable.

The dull thrumming of musical instruments vibrated up through the floor of the rented tavern room. Lively banter rode on wafts of breakfast aromas into the open window and intermingled with the pleasant spring breeze. All of which culminated to juxtapose the mounting dread weighing down Tomalin’s insides. He glared at the wrapped, brown, paper box resting between him and Dorn in the middle of their shared room. The morning light from the window prodded the unknown package as the gentle wind nudged the nearby tree, casting faded, undulating shadows.

It seems so innocent, Tomalin thought, it is almost cute because of that twine knot. Tomalin looked to Dorn who sat on the other side of the box in the room’s only other chair. Dorn hunched, muscular arm flexed while he absently fidgeted with the stubble on his chin. His lips parted and his brow scrunched together. What does he see? Tomalin brushed aside rogue strands of black hair. “What are you thinking, Dorn?”

Dorn’s expression shifted like a glacier, his brow climbed his forehead, nearly reaching his short-cropped hairline. He continued his examination of the box and said, “I do not remember requesting a delivery.” He looked to Tomalin. The light caught Dorn’s hazel eyes at an angle and revealed the glow of the arcane in his mottled irises. “I do not remember telling anyone of this tavern.”

“I can’t recall doing that either.” I was hoping he saw something I didn’t. Tomalin sat back and sighed, trying to release the knotted fear nestled beneath his solar plexus. We don’t have time for this. The room was locked. He threw himself to his feet. “Dorn, what kind of delivery boy puts an unlabeled package in the middle of a locked room?”

“I do not get it.”

“It’s not a joke, Dorn.”

“Oh.” He puzzled over the question, “The kind of delivery boy that has a key.”

Tomalin faltered, “Yes.” A key? Am I sure I even locked the door? He strode to the only door to the room. Maybe it was a delivery girl? What? Focus, Tom. He wrapped his fingers around the brass knob and froze. Is this a trap? If I open this door, will an arcane mechanism trigger something less-than-pleasant? Releasing the knob, Tomalin surveyed the room.

The room was sparse; two beds against the walls, their travel packs, two chairs, Dorn, a random parcel, and a window. The lone window remained open and leaking in the sounds of a cheery, tavern morning. The delivery boy—person likely entered through the window. We were only out for a brief time. He would have been spotted, right? The smell of bacon touched his nose. I love bacon! His mouth watered. I’ll need to grab some on the way to our appointment with the Court. Agh, what time is it? The knot of stress clenched at his lungs.

“I have sensed nothing on it nor in it,” Dorn said.

“I haven’t put any real effort in, myself. I should test it.” Tomalin strode up, knelt down, and extended his hands.

“You think this box is trapped?”

“Of course. My gut tells me to be careful. An unexpected package appeared in our room. It reasonably follows that something nefarious is afoot.” Tomalin’s shoulders burned in response to his hesitation. He ignored it.

“Yes. I do not understand why we talk of this individual you speak of, named ‘Nefarious’, nor his foot, but I believe my guts are unhappy as well.”

No, not what I meant. Tomalin resisted a sudden urge to face-palm. I’ll take that as his approval. He willed the energy that infused his existence, mana, to obey. He coerced it into his core as a sphere. A phantom pressure built beneath his solar plexus. Here you go, little Stress Knot. I’m making you a friend.

His stray thoughts fumbled his control and mana sheared off, causing involuntary muscle contractions. Simmer down, Mana Ball and Stress Knot. Learn to share your room.

Tomalin soothed his errant mind, allowing everything but his focus to be consumed. He flexed open his outstretched hands and inched strands of mana to his fingertips. He inhaled. The smell of bacon sent a thought of desire careening off his crystalline barrier of focus.

The world dimmed and Stress Knot relaxed. His fingertips bled taut wires of distilled mana as he tied his digits together in complicated patterns. Pinpoints of will cemented the joints of his spell’s architecture in the air. His fingers unwound and he exhaled an exertion of will.

With the spell successfully cast, Tomalin’s environment reasserted itself to his senses. His shoulders burned. He loosened his hold on Mana Ball and imagined it waving farewell to Stress Knot.

The spell structure imprinted itself on the air. Perfection. The corners of his lips tugged upward. Pay attention, otherwise I’ll have to restart. A transparent, teal haze plumed out from the casting and encroached on the box. It lazed on the top and unfurled languid tendrils around the corners, engulfing it. No visible crisscrossing latticework of mana threads, which means no obvious traps.

He leaned closer, inspecting. Skilled arcanists can infuse their mana strands into most materials. The paper should shimmer like very organized droplets of dew if that is the case here.

“Nothing,” Dorn said. Tomalin startled and yelped.

Tomalin said, “Thank you,” and thought, he has no tact. Stress Knot woke up. Tomalin continued, “No hidden strands from what I can perceive, but something feels wrong.” Stress Knot tensed.

“We are late to the appointment with the Governor’s Court,” said Dorn. He sat back in his wooden chair, the floorboards groaned beneath him. “Do we leave this here for now?”

Tempting, Tomalin thought. “We can’t. We must assume that this is a trap. If it explodes, everyone here is at risk. It might not be arcane, but mundane traps are also deadly.”

“I can build powerful wards around this room,” Dorn looked outside. “Perhaps warding others away is the temporary solution while we upkeep our reputation.”

Tomalin thought, we’re late! Why delivery uh—person?! Why did you put this here today? Tomalin suppressed an impulse to sweep the box up and chuck it out the window. Instead, he hurled himself onto his feet. “I’m not willing to risk it. It could have a time trigger. Wards won’t stop fire from consuming this tavern and everyone in it.”

Tomalin paced in a tight circle behind Dorn. This suspicious object is too risky. I’d rather die here protecting the innocent, than risk lives for the sake of our reputation. What kind of detectives would we be if we did that? “Right, Dorn?” Tomalin asked absently.

“Left, Tomalin.”

Tomalin patted Dorn’s meaty shoulder and started some stretches. “Let’s throw together some shields and just open this—“, the twine knot began laboriously untying itself, Tomalin froze. There were no organized lines of dew in that twine! What sorcery is this? Dorn shot out of his chair, knocking Tomalin over. “Dorn!”

“Yes, stand tall, Tomalin. What happens next is going to hurt.” Dorn said, straightening and holding out a hand. His irises flashed and he vacuumed in a hefty breath. His bronze skin radiated luminescence, he became a statue exquisitely carved out of shining gold.

“Oh yes, thank you for reminding me, my dear friend,” Tomalin felt his face squeeze into a sour expression. Dorn is a bottomless well of mana, but lacks control. I have control, but lack mana. We’re good partners.

The twine writhed through another stage of untying. CRAP! Tomalin slapped a hand into Dorn’s proffered one. Dorn’s mana seared Tomalin’s flesh. Tomalin opened his will and allowed Dorn’s mana and the inevitable pain to permeate. Dorn heaved Tomalin’s relatively slight frame upward.

Tomalin surrendered his mind to the formulae that bubbled to the surface of his psyche, the world dimmed as he was towed to his feet. His free hand flexed. He steered the torrent of scorching agony to his core asserting absolute control and compressing it to make Mana Ball next to Stress Knot who quavered in anxiety. Furrows of molten energy plowed up his arm to erupt from his fingertips. His hand formed a trio of sharp patterns in sequence, summoning a globule of shimmering energy from his core. It popped and basted the room in a haphazard, yet sturdy shell. Tomalin stood and moved Dorn’s grip to a shoulder, freeing his other hand.

He interlaced the fingers of both of his hands together and flexed. Harpoons of mana launched from his skin into the makeshift mana barrier. He allotted a portion of energy to flow through the harpoons and fuel the shield. His fingers contorted, a maze of mana threads formed between his palms.

Tomalin observed the undone knot slacken to the floor. The top of the wrapping paper peeled back in a neat square. Tomalin anchored the last mana thread in place, finishing the labyrinthine protection spell. A lance of mana rocketed from his torso, between his extended arms, in a straight line to the self-opening parcel.

The product of the spell snapped into shape and position. The blindingly bright mana sprung into a perfect, translucent cube around its target, it obliterated and replaced a few layers of wooden floorboards underneath but allowed a gap between its boundaries and each remaining side of the parcel.

Dorn hummed a resonating tone and placed his other hand on Tomalin. A tidal wave of mana crashed through the connection. Tomalin roared involuntarily and demanded the energy’s strict obedience. He funneled it all through his fingertips. The constructed barrier gleamed and vibrated. A pure ringing filled the small room as if a divine bell received an exacting strike.

The lid of the box flung open. Tomalin doubled his effort. A pair of delicate, metal paws braced against the rim of the opened package. A silver feline head rose into view. Polished interlocking plates shifted against each-other seamlessly as the automaton took in the environment. Its eyes locked onto Tomalin’s. Sapphires that emanated an inner arcane light bore into him. A wash of quicksilver passed over them and they became the eyes of a normal house cat. Its body trembled and the interlocking plates transformed into rich, black fur.

It’s an automaton house cat? Tomalin thought. Do I drop the shield? He held on and mumbled above Dorn’s humming, “It’s an automaton.”

“It is a cat,” Dorn hummed. The black feline stood on its hind legs and pawed at the mana cage.

“I didn’t expect this,” Tomalin said.

“Yes. Let us keep the shield around the room, but drop this one. Let the cat out of the box.” Tomalin disassembled the shield. The cat hopped out of the package and strutted toward the two detectives.

“Finally,” the cat barked in a grinding voice. “What were ya doin’? Pussy footin’ around?”

The cat-thing is talking! Tomalin stiffened. “What are you?” He asked.

Dorn chimed in, “It is a cat.” The cat glared at both of them and sauntered passed. It said, “Your boss. C’mon. We have someplace t’be.” It stopped at the part of the barrier that sealed the door, flicking its tail.

“Who sent you?” Tomalin asked. Dorn released him, severing the mana flow. Tomalin vented the excess mana into a cloud around him. The barrier disintegrated.

The cat casually leaped upward and unlatched the door with a sharp twist of the doorknob between both front paws. It landed with grace and nudged the door open with its head before strutting out. It said, “I did.”

Tomalin’s eyebrows shot up, “You shipped yourself through the post?”

Dorn said, “It seems like a convenient form of transportation,” before grabbing his pack and walking out.

What is happening? Tomalin thought as he looked down at the disregarded packaging. He threw on his own backpack and followed, calling out, “Are you taking us to Court?”

“If we had time, I’d sue you both.”

Tomalin closed the door behind him and muttered, “Stupid, snarky cat-thing.” Life is unpredictable.