The Master Magician (The Paper Magician Series Book 3) Page 17

  “Lacerate!” Emery shouted. A command Ceony had never before heard.

  The paper cloud pulled apart, half the pieces soaring one way, half the other, their edges slicing through Saraj’s skin.

  Paper cuts. Hundreds and hundreds of deep, slender paper cuts.

  The papers drifted to the ground, lined with red.

  Saraj drooped in his metal-barred prison, and the glowing eyes turned black.

  CHAPTER 16

  SILVER-GLEAMING GAFFER torches lined the walkway to the half-renovated hospital, pierced into the soil by both London and Brackley policemen. Two police automobiles blocked the road, and three horses grazed lazily at the hospital lawn while their riders investigated inside. Ceony shivered despite Emery’s coat draped over her shoulders. Emery himself sat on a bench near the walk, where a medic was checking the wound on the back of his head. He had already handed the paper magician a wet rag to press against his shoulder. He’d been hurt, yes, but he was alive. They both were. And Saraj wasn’t coming back—even the most experienced Excisioner couldn’t resurrect himself, no matter how many stolen hearts he’d cached inside his body.

  Ceony thought of Anise, not lying prone in her bathtub, but with her pencil clenched between her teeth as she tried to solve a math problem far too complex for Ceony to ever comprehend. Ceony thought of Delilah, not with Grath’s hand clasped around her neck, but smiling at her from across the table at St. Alban’s Salmon Bistro.

  Finally, it was finished.

  “I have a hard time believing you were simply in the right place at the right time, Thane,” Mg. Hughes said, approaching the bench. Ceony hadn’t seen him arrive. “If you insist on going through all the trouble, you might as well join our ranks. It pays well, as I’ve told you before.”

  Emery managed to smile—a weary gesture—at the Siper’s chiding. “Too much paperwork. You know that, Alfred.”

  Alfred snorted. “Paperwork. A Folder of all people, complaining about paperwork.”

  Mg. Hughes scratched his white mustache and glanced over to Ceony. “Ah, Miss Twill,” he said. “Why am I not surprised to see you here? Third strike, eh? Maybe you’d like to be recruited instead? When is this blasted apprenticeship of yours over?”

  Ceony tried to smile as well, but her nerves may have made it into more of a grimace. “Just under two weeks, with luck.”

  Mg. Hughes brightened. “Oh? Well, there’s some good news. My well-wishes, of course.”

  He turned back to Emery and bent over to get a better look at his wounds. “Once Magician Kilmer gets his hands on you, you’ll be good as new.”

  “Magician Kilmer?” Ceony asked.

  “A Binder,” Mg. Hughes said. “I normally wouldn’t say, but you’ve met him already.”

  Ceony scrunched her eyebrows together. A Binder? “I would remember . . .”

  “You’d be dead if you hadn’t,” Mg. Hughes clarified. “He’s one of few, but he happened to be in London the day of the incident with Grath, if you recall.”

  Ceony took a moment to process the information, which sent an icy shock down her spine. “You mean . . . the Excisioner, at the hospital?”

  “Binder, my dear,” Mg. Hughes corrected her. “There’s a difference.”

  Ceony shook her head. “What difference? He may heal instead of hurt, but explain that to the person he killed to earn his magic.”

  “He volunteered, actually.”

  Ceony spun around to see a tall man standing behind her, his shoulder-length black hair unbound and glimmering in the Gaffer light. He wore a dark suit with a dark shirt underneath, no tie. His was a long face with high cheekbones and deep-set, almond eyes that spoke of Asian lineage.

  Mg. Hughes cleared his throat. “Miss Twill, Magician Kilmer. I did mention he was here, didn’t I?”

  A flush crept up Ceony’s chest and neck, banishing her chills.

  Mg. Kilmer gave her a somber smile, one that moved the lips just enough to be noticeable. Stepping past her, he said, “He suffered from cancer of the bones, and everyone in his family had already passed on before him save for one son. He would have died within days regardless, if it helps your conscience.”

  What could Ceony say to that? It didn’t seem right to apologize . . . or to thank him for healing her, for healing Emery now. Despite the man’s judicially anointed abilities, Ceony’s stomach still tightened as he stood over Emery, uttering the same old tongue Saraj had used. His hands glowed with a familiar gold light, and he touched Emery’s shoulder, head, and jaw, erasing his wounds as if they had never existed.

  “I need to speak with Magician Aviosky,” Ceony said.

  Mg. Hughes leaned toward her. “Hm?”

  “I’ve given my statement,” she said. “Could we leave? It’s important.”

  Mg. Hughes shrugged. “Be my guest. That’s in Magician Thane’s jurisdiction now.”

  She nodded once, then moved to Emery as Mg. Kilmer left. She knelt before him, hands on his knees, not really caring who saw.

  “You lied to me,” she whispered.

  He met her eyes. “Which time?”

  “About my being ready to test for magicianship,” she said. “Lacerate—I don’t know that one. How many more spells do I not know?”

  “Not even Prit knows that spell, Ceony,” Emery said. He rested his hands on her shoulders, lifted a lock of her hair to see the place where Saraj had ripped out another. Ceony hoped it didn’t look too obvious. “That is a Magician Thane original.”

  Ceony’s fatigue subsided at those words. “You discovered a Folding spell? How?”

  “It’s an intense version of ‘Shred,’ really,” he said. “And yes, when Lira was still a threat. I’m a Folder, Ceony. I needed to find something besides ‘Burst’ spells that could incapacitate a person.”

  She nodded, slowly, digesting the news. “Are there any others I don’t know?”

  “No.”

  Another nod. A pause. “Emery,” she said, enunciating each syllable of his name. Proceeding with caution. “How many people have . . . have you—”

  “Killed?” he finished for her.

  She bit her lip.

  “You and I are one for one, love,” he answered.

  “Oh, Emery—”

  “I’ll be fine,” he said. Ran a thumb over her cheek. “I hardly feel remorse over the loss of Saraj Prendi. By all means, I killed him twice. I guess that puts me one ahead, hm?”

  Silence fell between them for several seconds.

  “I need to tell Magician Aviosky,” Ceony whispered. “Knowing what we know about bonding Excisioners . . . I think I should tell her.”

  “I would do the same.”

  “Did you arrive by buggy? Is it still here?”

  Emery stood and pulled up Ceony with him. He rolled his head and stretched out his shoulder, testing it. Glancing behind him, he nodded once to Mg. Kilmer.

  “Let’s go,” he murmured, hand pressed to Ceony’s back. “I do hope Patrice likes early-morning visitors.”

  Ceony walked close to him, leaving the hospital—and the Excisioners—behind.

  Mg. Aviosky opened the front door on the ninth knock, already groomed and powdered, though the hair pulled into its habitual tight bun at her crown looked wet. She didn’t mask her surprise at seeing Emery Thane and Ceony Twill on her doorstep a quarter after seven in the morning. Adjusting her glasses on her nose, she asked, “To what do I owe this visit? I’m afraid I have an appointment with the Cabinet in an hour.”

  Taking a deep breath, Ceony said, “Saraj Prendi is dead.”

  She stiffened. “What, how? Are you sure?”

  “Alfred will likely fill you in soon enough,” Emery said. He stifled a yawn.

  Mg. Aviosky blanched. Her gaze fixed on Ceony. “Don’t tell me you were invol—”

  “Saraj isn’t why I’m here,” she interjected. Glanced at Emery. After another deep breath, she added, “There’s something I didn’t tell you about Grath. What he did the day in the mirror r
oom—how Delilah really died.”

  Mg. Aviosky stilled until even her chest failed to rise, her lips limp.

  “I didn’t tell you what he discovered,” Ceony continued, “but I need to tell you now, if you can find the time.”

  The Gaffer nodded mutely and stepped back from the door, clearing a path into her home. Ceony slipped off her shoes at the door, as was Mg. Aviosky’s preference, though she noted Emery did not. The Gaffer made no comment and simply led the two of them into the front room. Ceony sat on the couch, Emery beside her. To her surprise he took her hand in his in plain sight of Mg. Aviosky. Still, the Gaffer didn’t comment.

  Nerves prickling the lining of her stomach, Ceony said, “Delilah died because Grath bonded to her. He became an Excisioner, Magician Aviosky. He was about to steal your heart when I . . . stopped him.”

  Mg. Aviosky’s eyebrows sailed nearly to her hairline, then dropped down close to her eyes. “Miss Twill, Grath Cobalt was a Gaffer. A man cannot bond to more than one material.”

  “Not at the same time, no,” Ceony said. She glanced to Emery before adding, “What if I told you that, at this moment, I was a Smelter?”

  Mg. Aviosky rubbed her chin. “Miss Twill—”

  “Bring me a coin,” Ceony said. “I’ll prove it.”

  CHAPTER 17

  DURING THE DRIVE to Poplar, Ceony thought of Mg. Aviosky. Yesterday’s meeting had gone just about as well as could be expected, but Mg. Aviosky didn’t know what to do with the discovery. Neither did Ceony.

  “I’ll think on it.” Mg. Aviosky’s departing words. She hadn’t even said good-bye as Ceony and Emery walked back to their buggy.

  Today’s buggy pulled up alongside the curve outside the new Twill house. Ceony shook thoughts of magic and bonding from her mind and focused on the task at hand. She had one more item of personal business to take care of before returning to Mg. Bailey’s abode, and her studies.

  Tracking Zina down proved to be a more complicated task than Ceony had imagined. Being unmarried and having chosen not to further her education outside of secondary school, Zina still lived at home, but she had gone out. No one knew where.

  “I don’t know what to do with her, Ceony,” her mother groaned as she poured Ceony a cup of weak tea. “She rarely alerts me when she goes out, and only God knows what she does. Your father is losing hair over it. I’m ready to kick her out!”

  Rhonda Twill would never force one of her daughters out of the home, of course, but Ceony understood her mother’s sentiment.

  Birds would do no good in locating Zina in such a highly populated area. Instead, Ceony stopped next door to inquire of Mrs. Hemmings, whose daughter was a new friend of Zina’s. Mrs. Hemmings suggested a few places to look, including the Carraways’ residence back in the Mill Squats.

  The sun had risen to noon by the time Ceony arrived in her old neighborhood. Fortunately Megrinda Carraway, Zina’s on-and-off friend and two years Ceony’s junior, happened to be home.

  “She’s probably out with Carl and Sam,” Megrinda said, leaning against the door frame of the squat house as she twisted a lock of umber hair around her finger. It didn’t look as though she’d bothered to get ready for the day, save for changing from a sleeping gown to a faded yellow sundress.

  “A tall fellow with sandy-colored hair and a cleft in his chin?” Ceony asked.

  Megrinda nodded. “That’s Carl. Sam’s his little brother. He’s a real bugger, if you don’t mind me saying.”

  Ceony did mind but saw no use in mentioning it.

  “They usually hang out by the theatre in Parliament Square or the Maple By.”

  Ceony furrowed her brow. “The saloon?”

  Megrinda smiled. “Yeah.” She eyed Ceony, head to foot to head. “Even you’d get some attention there.”

  Inhaling deeply to prevent a huff, Ceony thanked Megrinda for her help and had her buggy drive her to Parliament Square.

  She first checked the small road where she’d run into Zina before, but there was no sign of her sister. She walked around the theatre, even going so far as to ask a man at the ticket counter if he’d seen anyone meeting Zina’s description, but he hadn’t. Ceony walked by the rows of shops near the Parliament building, peeking into their windows, before finally giving up and making her way to the saloon. Despite having come to terms with her hair color years ago, she found herself wishing it were a less noticeable shade. She didn’t need rumors of intemperance to be added to the chatter about her relationship with Emery. Maybe she should just hug a “Conceal” spell about her person and walk invisibly through the streets. If only she had brought a sheet of paper large enough.

  God had mercy on her, for when she stepped into the saloon, too dimly lit to encourage good behavior, she spied Zina only moments after being assaulted with the smell of cigar smoke. Someone whistled; Ceony didn’t look to see if it had been directed at her. She trudged up to the high table where Zina stood with a cigarette perched in her fingers. Carl sat next to her, turning an empty glass over in his hands. There was no sign of Sam.

  “Hello, sister.”

  Zina looked up at her, and for a moment her face flashed pale, but she hid her reaction so swiftly Ceony wondered if she’d imagined it. Her sister’s eyes darkened and her brows tightened. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  Ceony sighed. “Spoken like a true lady. I need to speak to you, and I’d like to do it outside of this . . . establishment. Preferably before I start to smell like the fag in your hand.”

  Carl stood. “I know you. Older sister?” He didn’t ask it in a friendly tone.

  Keeping calm, as Delilah had always complimented her for doing, Ceony pulled a sheet of paper and her Smelted scissors from her purse and set the supplies on the table, focusing on them and not Carl. “I believe my use of the term sister would say that much. Elder sister, which is why I don’t want Zina in a place like this with a man like you. If you’ll excuse us.”

  Carl snorted. “Shove off.”

  Ceony had expected he’d say something of the like. Without so much as glancing at him, she cut her squares and, after pulling out a pencil, quickly doodled on their corners before returning the pencil and scissors to her bag. She whispered “Adhere” to one of her squares.

  “Send me a letter if you want to talk,” Zina said, puffing around the fag. She didn’t seem to be enjoying it much, stupid girl. “Your fancy mail birds. Or have your blighter make one for you.”

  Carl grabbed Ceony’s upper arm. “Time to go, sweets.”

  Ceony turned to face him, their chests only inches apart, and tucked one of her squares into the front pocket of his trousers. “I am not your ‘sweets,’ Carl,” she said, shaking off his hand and simultaneously throwing the other square with a flick of her wrist. The “Adhere” spell she’d placed on it made it suction tightly to the floor. “And if you touch me again, I’ll have you tossed out. Or, better yet, I’ll do it myself. Affix!”

  The bearing square in Carl’s pocket leapt to connect with its partner on the floor, regardless of what—or who—stood in the way. The force of the magic knocked Carl onto the ground and slid him several feet to meet the other paper square.

  Zina gaped. “Ceony!”

  “Come with me, or I’ll do the same to you,” she snapped, snatching the fag from Zina’s lips. With an uttered “Shred,” the cigarette’s paper tore itself to pieces, leaving a barely smoldering mess on the tabletop.

  Having grabbed Zina by the elbow, Ceony dragged her out of the saloon and into the blessedly fresh-smelling sunlight. Fortunately, her sister didn’t resist until they were several paces from the dreaded place’s front doors.

  “You’ve got some nerve!” Zina shot.

  Ceony brushed her hands over her blouse as though the action could scare away the smell of cigars. “Apparently not as much as you. My affair with an established magician hardly seems notable compared to whatever rubbish you’re up to.”

  Zina deflated, leaned against the outside wall of M
aple By. “Don’t act like you understand me.”

  “Why would I pretend to when I don’t?” she countered. “What has gotten into you? Mother is worried about you, and so am I. Talk to me.”

  Zina frowned.

  “I don’t see Carl coming to your rescue.”

  Rolling her eyes, Zina folded her arms, then unfolded them to flick her black hair behind her shoulders. It fell forward again. She ignored it.

  Ceony frowned. “We used to be close, you know.”

  Her sister continued to fuss with her hair, eyes averted. “Before you took off and became the apple of Mum and Dad’s eye, maybe.”

  Ceony raised an eyebrow.

  “I’m sick of being second-rate, Ceony!” Zina said, loud enough to earn a few glances from passersby. Apparently, without Carl and Sam as her shield, the looks bothered her. Lowering her voice, she continued. “Compared, overlooked. If one daughter can become a magician, then certainly another can do something equally great.”

  “You can, if you want to,” she offered quietly. “And I’m not a magician yet.”

  “Easy for you to say. We don’t all have rich men paying for our schooling.”

  “You hate school.”

  “I wish I didn’t.”

  That took Ceony aback. She felt herself soften, inside and out. “Oh, Zina.”

  Zina folded her arms tightly over her chest. “I hate being poor.”

  “Is that the appeal to this Carl? Money?”

  She guffawed. “He’s a street sweeper, so no.”

  But he pays attention to you, Ceony thought, though she knew better than to voice the words. Instead, she said, “Come,” and gently took Zina’s elbow. Zina, eyes fixed on the walk, came without protest.

  “What do you want to do?” Ceony asked after a minute of silence.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, we can’t do anything until we figure that out. What about your art?”

  She snorted. “Can’t afford the equipment.”