The Master Magician (The Paper Magician Series Book 3) Read online

  He wouldn’t be in that community, Ceony thought, thinking of her personal investigation in Gosport. But could I send in spies? No, if there were anything to find there, Criminal Affairs would have found it. They’d catch me, and besides, paper spells aren’t complex enough to hold the orders I would need to give them. It’s a dead end.

  Criminal Affairs had more information than she did. Mg. Hughes had been impressed with her before; perhaps he’d share something with her.

  But Emery had already spoken with him. If he didn’t relay any information to Emery, he certainly wouldn’t let Ceony know his secrets. She frowned.

  “—doesn’t work with complex Folds,” Bennet said from his seat. The “Stiffen” spell—a spell that would temporarily harden paper—was one Ceony had learned on her 211th day as an apprentice. It sounded like Bennet had learned it recently, written an essay about it, and was now being given a verbal quiz.

  If I’ve heard nothing new about Saraj, he’s probably not a threat, she chided herself. A moment passed before a speculative thought arrived: But that also means he hasn’t been caught.

  She adjusted herself on the chair. I haven’t been in contact with Magician Aviosky. And Emery . . . If Magician Hughes did update him, would he be willing to share bad news?

  She turned back one page in her ledger, where a creased magenta paper poked out from the ledger’s binding, having once held the form of a butterfly.

  Thinking of you. Study hard, and don’t let them get to you.

  She wondered if “them” included Bennet, or if Emery had been referring to the entire education board. Ceony wasn’t sure how many of its members would be present for her actual test.

  Letting out a long breath, Ceony flipped the page back over and examined her notes, which included drawings of stars with rounded corners attached to V-shaped bird wings. #44. Something to guide your way through the dark. She had decided to make starlights that would fly a step ahead of her when she moved. She had them half-Folded back in her room but had taken a break from her work after receiving a paper bat from Mg. Bailey, requesting her presence at Bennet’s morning lesson.

  She tuned in to the review for a few seconds. Pointless. Perhaps Mg. Bailey intended to waste her time so she wouldn’t have a chance to finish her test preparation.

  Bennet glanced in her direction, but Ceony averted her gaze to the window. After spending half a minute staring at the roof to the unused servants’ quarters, Ceony kept her visage fixed on her ledger for the rest of the lesson.

  She reread Emery’s note. It made her chest hurt.

  “Miss Twill.”

  She glanced up. Mg. Bailey stood at the end of the table where Bennet had sat perched moments before—Bennet himself had left—and smoothed out a long, rectangular piece of white paper across it. He then stood erect, folded his forearms behind his back, and gestured to the table with his narrow chin.

  “Let’s have a test of our own, shall we?” he said.

  Ceony set her ledger down on the chair and stood. We’ll have a test of our own in two and a half weeks. Or have you forgotten? She approached the table.

  “Tell me,” the Folder began, “how are your skills with paper illusions?”

  “Were they not satisfactory, I wouldn’t be here. Sir.”

  “Hmm. Show me.” He gestured to the paper.

  Ceony examined the paper before her, thinking of the party decorations she had done for Mrs. Holloway. So long ago . . . yet it wasn’t. Did Mg. Bailey ever send Bennet on such errands? Ceony couldn’t imagine the Folder taking time out of his schedule for that sort of work. Then again, she couldn’t imagine anyone asking him for it. Textbooks, indeed.

  “Did you want something in particular?” she asked.

  Mg. Bailey walked around the table, taking up the same, slow march he had used during Bennet’s lesson. “No,” he said, “but try to impress me.”

  Ceony took a deep breath and held it in her lungs for several seconds. She stared at the paper. What would impress an arrogant man like Mg. Bailey? The illusion of a French dinner? A peek into a junglescape, like the design she’d created for Mrs. Holloway?

  She thought of the park Bennet had mentioned, the one with the duck pond. She’d never done an illusion like that, and the prospect of trying it without testing it first made her nervous. But if she could turn the tabletop into fish-filled water and lily pads, it would undoubtedly be impressive. Emery would think so, anyway.

  She moved to the far left side of the paper and picked up one corner but hesitated before Folding it. Mg. Bailey’s eyes pinned her to the floor—she could feel his gaze on the back of her neck, but she ignored him.

  The problem is that he can take a walk any time he wants and see a pond, she thought, chewing on her lower lip. I need to do something different.

  She mulled, considering.

  Mg. Bailey sighed. “To start, you should—”

  “I’m merely giving my creativity a moment to work,” Ceony interrupted, “but thank you for the willingness to assist.”

  After another moment, she began to Fold.

  She started with the corners, pinching them, twisting one to add depth to the illusion. She grabbed a pencil from the desk so she could draw the spell’s shapes, words, and other symbols that would contort the illusion into looking the way she wanted. She used a great deal of guessing in the appearance of the illusion—telescopes, enchanted or not, could only reveal so much—but hopefully that guessing would make the final result more “impressive.”

  Mg. Bailey watched her silently, thankfully withholding commentary. Ceony focused on her growing spell, trying not to wonder at what the Folder might be thinking.

  A fan Fold, another symbol, and the long parchment darkened and speckled with spots of white. A mutted dog-ear Fold on the bottom corner made the specks rotate in slow motion. A whispered instruction added even more depth.

  More words, more shapes hidden by blackness.

  When Ceony stepped back, she and Mg. Bailey stared into a piece of the sky itself, beyond what the human eye could see.

  Stars tumbled in different sizes and colors; a distant galaxy hovered in the upper-right corner; and a comet burned its way across the paper’s surface. She included a rendition of the moon in the lower left, three-fourths of its cratered surface lit by the sun’s light. Above it hovered Saturn, complete with a soft glow and dozens of tiny rings.

  Ceony grinned; she had done well.

  Mg. Bailey said nothing.

  She looked at him, at the unreadable expression on his face. One forearm folded across his ribs; his other hand pinched his chin between thumb and forefinger as he studied her work. He didn’t seem impressed. He didn’t seem . . . anything.

  Ceony wondered if she should ask for his evaluation or stay silent. She chose the latter.

  A long minute passed before he said, “A decent illusion.”

  From Mg. Bailey, Ceony considered that high praise.

  He continued. “I’m actually surprised at how quickly you finished it; twelve minutes and thirty-four seconds is fast for a page this size.”

  “You . . . timed me?”

  He gestured weakly to the clock above the door. “A good time. Not the fastest, of course, but for an apprentice with only two years’ experience, a good time. Hmm. Magician Thane must have finally gotten his wits about him and begun decent training, unless you had a second tutor.”

  Ceony’s neck grew hot. She swallowed hard and said, “I did not have a second tutor.”

  He nodded, fingers still pinching his chin. “Wits it is, then. Good—I was worried the board would put him on probation after his illustrious failure with his last apprentice. I’m surprised they assigned a female apprentice to him.”

  Ceony’s lips parted. Unseen spiders crawled up her back. For a moment she found herself speechless, but after a few seconds she found her voice. “How dare you,” she said. “You know nothing about that.”

  Emery’s second apprentice—Daniel. She had
first learned of him during her journey through Emery’s heart two years ago. Emery had transferred the apprentice after the situation with Lira, his ex-wife and a rising Excisioner, grew too heated. It had been for Daniel’s own safety.

  Mg. Bailey lowered his hand from his face. His eyes narrowed. “I’m stating a fact, Miss Twill. You’d do best to hold your tongue—”

  “I will not,” Ceony snapped. “I’ve been here three days, and already I’ve heard far too many jabs at Magician Thane. Regardless of any malice you two had in the past, he is a good man and a fantastic teacher, and I refuse to hear another word of this slander.”

  A flush burned a path across Mg. Bailey’s pale skin. “How dare you speak to me in such a manner!”

  “How dare you speak to me in such a manner!” Ceony shot back, feeling her own flush rise. “I did not come here to be insulted, or to listen to you affront my tutor!”

  “Miss Twill—”

  “You’re just jealous that he’s a better Folder than you,” she spat.

  Mg. Bailey’s eyes went wide. Ceony snatched her ledger and marched for the door. She needed to get out of the room before she said more—this was the man who would be testing her, for heaven’s sake! What fool thing had she done now?

  Fortunately the Folder said nothing after her—nothing she could hear, anyway—and he didn’t pursue her, not that Ceony turned around to check. Her footsteps echoed through the wide, empty halls, so lavish and cold. Her heels clomped in time with her pulse.

  She made it to her bedroom and only just resisted the impulse to slam the door. Fennel, perched upon the bed, lifted his head, but even the paper dog sensed her foul mood and covered his muzzle with his rubber-lined paws.

  Ceony pinched the phosphorus charm on her necklace. In less than a minute she could summon fireballs and literally burn this horrible mansion down to size. Let Mg. Bailey deal with that. Insufferable. How she pitied Bennet.

  He’ll toss me out, Ceony thought, pacing to the other end of the room. She pulled the pin from her hair and ran rigid fingers through the orange locks. But what does it matter? I don’t need him to be the one who tests me. Who cares if others question my abilities? I want Emery to administer my test.

  She thought of the newspaper article. Scandal. She harrumphed. Who cares. Anything would be worth getting away from Pritwin Bailey!

  She dropped the hairpin onto her mattress and paced the length of the room two more times before pausing with her hands on her hips. She took a deep breath through her nose and released it slowly between tight lips.

  “Study,” she said aloud. Passing her test was her foremost goal now; she needed to be prepared regardless of who served as her tester.

  Ceony jerked back one of the two chairs at the breakfast table, sat, and dropped her ledger on the table’s glass surface. She opened it to the first page. Shut it. Opened it and turned to her notes on starlights. Flipped a few pages ahead and grabbed a pencil.

  She held it over the paper, intending to pen a note to Emery, but she couldn’t focus on that, either. What good would it do to write him a note in anger? Anyway, she knew he’d tell her to stay—if Pritwin would let her, at any rate.

  Groaning, Ceony shut the ledger once more and leaned back in the chair. She would never pass at this rate. Mg. Bailey had utterly shattered her ability to concentrate.

  Leaning back, Ceony stared at the ceiling and listened to her own breathing, waiting as it gradually slowed. Her neck hurt by the time she straightened.

  She turned in response to a soft tapping at her bedroom window.

  Ceony released a long breath, which contorted her lips into a smile. Perfect timing, she thought, rising from her seat. She couldn’t run crying into Emery’s arms, but his encouraging words always did wonders for her spirit.

  She opened her window, expecting a small paper butterfly or glider, but the crumpled spell that fell over the windowsill had not been crafted by Emery’s hands, but her own.

  In her surprise, Ceony let the window fall shut. She scooped the red songbird into her palms. Rain had crinkled its pointed wings, and wind had bent and weakened its beak and tail. Dirt smudged the bright-crimson paper, making it look rusty.

  Ceony smoothed the edges of the spell in an attempt to coax it to life, barely breathing as she did so. This songbird was one of four she had Folded in Gosport during her search for Saraj. How long had it spent scouring England for him? How long had it spent searching for her?

  What had it found?

  It was probably something inconsequential, like the enclave, but she had to know. “Can you show me where?” she asked the weakened spell.

  The songbird hopped limply in her hands and toppled over against her fingers.

  She pressed her lips together. The spell would never have the strength to fly to its destination, however near or far it might be. Ceony didn’t think it could take to the air again at all, not with damage of this extent. She might not be able to follow it anyway. And she knew no way to transfer the knowledge of one spell to another—she couldn’t Fold a second bird.

  She chewed on the edge of her tongue for a long moment, then remembered the technical library.

  Maps, she thought. Mg. Bailey had huge ones. It might be enough.

  Holding her breath, Ceony dug out the mimic spell she’d shared with Mg. Aviosky. Perhaps the Gaffer had written back with news. If Criminal Affairs had a good lead on Saraj, there would be no need for her to follow up.

  She found the spell. Blank.

  Pinching the wings of the fatigued bird in her fingers, Ceony abandoned her studies and hurried to the technical library, trying her hardest not to run.

  CHAPTER 10

  MUTED LIGHT FROM the setting sun streamed into the library through its west-facing windows, making the book-lined walls look almost as rusty as the Folded songbird in Ceony’s hands. Her footsteps sounded especially loud to her ears, and the creaking of the library doors as she closed them threatened to give her away.

  Not give me away, she reminded herself. She hadn’t done anything wrong.

  Yet.

  Her eyes scanned the tall set of drawers, which were bound to contain maps, but the ones hanging on the walls would be the true prize. On the left side of the library door hung a world map with several red pins marking cities in the eastern United States. The wall to the right of the doors displayed a large map of Great Britain, free of pins save for a yellow one marking Edinburgh, Scotland.

  England stood almost as tall as Ceony herself. Perfect.

  She cupped the red songbird in her hands and approached the map. “Can you tell me where you saw whatever it is you saw?” she asked.

  The spell hopped weakly in her hands.

  Pressing her lips together, Ceony eyed the map and the tacks that held it in place on the wall. The bird was too weak to float on its own for long. She set down the songbird on the drawers and grabbed one side of the map, freeing several tacks. She did the same on the other side until the wide, thick paper tumbled to the floor.

  She laid it out flat and set the songbird atop it.

  “Show me,” she pressed.

  The weak spell hopped once in place, then teetered onto one of its damaged wings. Ceony set it upright. It hopped down, moving toward London before it tumbled over a second time. Ceony righted it again.

  The bird made its way to Reading in Berkshire and stopped.

  Ceony scooped the spell into her cold hands and leaned in close to the map, pushing the tip of her right index finger into the circle marking Reading. “So close,” she whispered. The words sent gooseflesh coursing down her arms. Her spine turned rigid.

  But had the bird seen Saraj himself? Perhaps it had simply found another Indian community, or some foreigner matching Saraj’s description. This might be another wild-goose chase. Of course, the bird could have located a different clue entirely.

  “Thank you,” she told the songbird as she drew back from the map. “Cease.”

  The animation flew out of t
he crinkled spell, putting the worn bird at rest.

  She sat back on her heels, still cradling the bird. Reading. Could it be?

  She had to know. She had to see for herself! A large part of her wished desperately that the bird was mistaken. That a simple paper spell couldn’t have found anything of use.

  Emery would tell me if there were any important updates, she thought. And surely Magician Hughes would tell him . . .

  She glanced to the bird in her hands. Setting it down once more, Ceony used her necklace to become a Smelter, using “Target” and “Launch” commands on the tacks to return the map to its proper position on the wall. Returning to paper magic, she hurried from the library, winding her way back to her bedroom. The two rooms were spaced far enough apart that her lungs gasped for air by the time she reached her destination.

  She set the songbird on the breakfast table and hurried to the window, checking its sill for further messages. Nothing. She opened the pane and stuck her head outside, searching the air and grounds in the dimming light. Seeing no sign of an incoming message, she sucked in a deep breath and stepped away from the window, leaving it open. She paced to the table and back.

  So close, she thought, rubbing chills from her shoulders. She should send a message to her parents, alert them.

  But she didn’t know for sure. She couldn’t until she went to Reading, explored it with her own eyes.

  “You have no reason to go after him . . . Promise me you won’t.”

  Ceony chewed her lower lip. “But I’m not going after him,” she murmured to herself. “I’m only looking.”

  Her gut twisted, tight as a wrung rag, and her heart started to grow heavy. She glanced to the window again. Still nothing. She should write him.

  And say what? she wondered, stretching back to relieve the twisting and weighing. Nothing that wouldn’t get her into trouble, one way or another. And her nerves frayed too much for her to forge a cheery note.

  She paced to the window and back, window and back, ignoring the way Fennel’s eyeless face noiselessly followed her.