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

  Hurrying out to her bike, Ceony pedaled back to the cottage on legs somewhat unwilling to put forth the effort.

  The front door to the cottage was unlocked. She let herself in, taking a breath to call Emery’s name and see if he was home, but it caught in her throat as she stepped into the hallway.

  Emery stood there with his arms folded tightly across his chest, his green eyes blazing with a fire that could only be meant for her.

  CHAPTER 7

  CEONY RUSHED THROUGH a mental checklist of her appearance: Her hair was a little windblown from the bike ride, her cheeks rosy, but when were they not rosy? Her blouse, dress, and shoes were acceptably clean. It wasn’t unusual for her to carry a purse, so that wouldn’t be a source of suspicion.

  She glanced at her fingernails. Not too bad.

  “Emery!” she said, missing only a heartbeat. She grinned. “I didn’t expect you home so soon.”

  “I didn’t expect you home so late,” he countered, his eyes narrowing without losing any of their brilliance. “Did you take the scenic route from Patrice’s house?”

  A flush inched up Ceony’s neck. “I did visit her today,” she said, adjusting her purse strap on her shoulder. She pressed her thumb into her collar as she did so, ensuring that it hid her new charm necklace. “How did you know? Did you run into her?” Ceony swallowed. “Did she . . . send you a telegram?”

  Emery chuckled, but it wasn’t a happy laugh. “Oh no. Why use the telegraph when a certain nosy apprentice might be around to swipe the message? She found me through the lavatory mirror. And I believe it’s been approximately six hours since you stopped by her home to ask her about Saraj Prendi.”

  The creeping flush chilled white and sunk back into Ceony’s spine. Aviosky! You couldn’t keep a secret if your life depended on it!

  But of course Mg. Aviosky had told Emery. Ceony was only an apprentice; Mg. Thane was technically her guardian.

  “I went shopping,” she said, wincing as the poor lie escaped her lips. She had no bags, no receipts. Nothing to prove it, and Emery knew her well enough to know she couldn’t tolerate window-shopping for six hours.

  She swallowed a sigh and straightened, but her five-foot-three frame had nothing on Emery’s. “I didn’t do anything wrong,” she said, moving down the hallway. She tried to pass him, but he caught her elbow.

  “By all means, enlighten me on what you did do,” he said.

  Ceony felt her own fire pulse outward from her chest. “I’m not dabbling with Excisioners, if that’s what you’re worried about,” she snapped, pulling her arm free.

  The reference to Lira—Emery’s ex-wife—was too hard of a blow, but Ceony stomped into the kitchen before she could glimpse his face. Fennel jumped up from where he lay by the dining room table, but Ceony ignored him and fled up the stairs to her bedroom. She dropped her purse on the floor—kicking it under the bed—and yanked the clip from her hair. Uneven orange curls tumbled over her shoulders. She shook them out before placing both hands on her hips, then sucked in one deep breath. Another.

  She didn’t even hear the paper magician’s footsteps approach her door, just his voice. “Ceony.”

  “I went to Gosport,” she said, not turning around.

  “Gosport and back in six hours?”

  “You’re not the only one with a glider,” she lied, hoping he wouldn’t call her out on it. “Magician Aviosky couldn’t tell me much, so I went to Gosport to look around. I didn’t find much, but I thought I’d make the effort. I’ve gotten weary of letting our enemies find me first.”

  The door frame creaked as Emery leaned against it. “I thought you were over this—running off and taking matters into your own hands. I thought we talked about this. On several occasions.”

  She turned around. The fire had left his eyes, but his face remained mirthless. “You talked at me about it, maybe.” She sighed. “I’m not jumping through mirrors hunting down an Excisioner with a gun again.” Half lie. “Saraj wasn’t anywhere near Gosport.” Hopefully a lie.

  “But he could have been.”

  “He could also be in my closet,” she quipped. “Or hiding in the ivy.” She gestured to the window. “Or having tea with the butcher, biding his time until one of us needs a pound of pork. You yourself said that Saraj has no reason to come after us.” Or does he? North. Why did he go north?

  “Then you have no reason to go after him,” he replied. He stood straight and ran a hand back through his hair, making the waves fall unevenly about his face. “It makes me sick to think about it, Ceony. Lira, Grath . . . It’s like you have a checklist for dangerous criminals tucked into your pocket, and you won’t be satisfied until you’ve had a personal encounter with each.”

  Ceony folded her arms, more for comfort than out of anger. “I just want to know my family is safe.”

  “Are they?”

  It wasn’t a mocking question, just a prod into what Ceony had found. She debated telling him, but she didn’t want Emery dwelling on her unnatural use of magic. She’d kept the secret for too long to tell him now.

  “I don’t think he left England,” she replied, softer. “And if that’s true, I want to know why. Did you know he escaped near a naval base? Even he wouldn’t risk crossing the water near so many soldiers. What if he’s trying to lose himself among the common folk, all the while harvesting them as he plans his great escape, or worse?”

  Emery stepped into the room, a long breath passing through his nostrils. He set a heavy hand on either of Ceony’s shoulders. “I messaged Alfred today, but he had little information to share. I will contact him again and ask to be kept informed,” he offered. “Will that be enough?”

  Would it? Ceony didn’t know. “So long as he doesn’t involve you in the case,” she said.

  “Or you,” Emery added. His grip lightened, as did his tone. “Promise me you won’t try to go after this man.”

  Ceony frowned. “I’ll promise if you will.”

  A slight smile touched Emery’s lips and eyes. “Promise.”

  “Promise.”

  He kissed her lightly on the lips. “Let’s find something for dinner,” he said. “And pack your bags. I’m to introduce you to Magician Pritwin Bailey tomorrow morning.”

  Nerves roused Ceony early the next morning, but she took her time getting ready, humming old lullabies to herself as she dressed and pinned her hair in an effort to keep herself calm. She chose a rose-colored dress from her closet—she’d obtained a few rather nice pieces of clothing during her apprenticeship—and summoned Jonto to help her with its buttons. She looped a light-red ascot around her neck and, despite the warm weather, the dark-olive jacket that had come with the dress. She left the matching hat on her bed while she had a boiled egg for breakfast. It would be impossible to stomach more than that.

  Today is the start of the finishing, she thought as she broke into the shell of her small meal. A couple weeks with Prit—no, Magician Bailey—and I’ll take my test. I’ll become a magician.

  Emery entered the kitchen, covering a yawn with his knuckles.

  Ceony slid the spoon into the egg’s flesh. I won’t be Emery’s apprentice anymore. No more secrets. No more gossip. No more waiting.

  She smiled to herself and chewed on the bit of egg. It grew bland in her mouth. Unless I fail.

  She could take the test again, eventually. But Ceony suspected that the humiliation of failure would carry a greater weight than the failure itself.

  “Should I be jealous?” Emery asked as he pulled a half loaf of bread out of the cupboard—cheese-and-herb bread Ceony had made two days ago.

  Ceony glanced up from her egg. “Hmm?”

  “I don’t think you’ve worn that since Patrice’s luncheon. Magician Bailey will be impressed.”

  Ceony rolled her eyes. “I want to make a good impression.”

  Emery chuckled to himself and buttered two slices of bread. “The buggy should be here soon. Do you have your suitcase packed?”

  “So eager
to get rid of me?”

  “Eager?” he repeated, rolling back the sleeves of his favorite indigo coat. “My kitchen will be empty in two days and I’ll be forced to purchase my own groceries. How could I be eager for that?”

  Ceony smiled and scooped out more egg. “You could always have Jonto cook your meals.”

  In fact, Emery once had tried to get Jonto to cook his meals. It had taken the paper magician two days to reconstruct the right hand and arm of the paper skeleton, which had burned off after Jonto attempted to light the coals in the oven.

  “I’ll be sure to stock up on sandwich supplies,” Emery murmured.

  “And all you’ll miss is the food, hm?”

  His eyes glimmered. “I may miss the mid-night companionship.”

  Ceony flushed. “Emery Thane!” That was one time.

  Emery just chuckled, the cursed man. Peeling the shell off her breakfast, Ceony asked, “When was the last time you saw Magician Bailey?”

  “Saw him?” Emery repeated between bites. “I suppose at that fund-raising banquet. The one where a certain hot-tempered young waitress dumped a pitcher of wine on a guest’s lap.” He smiled. “Spoke to him, though . . . My graduation from Praff, unless you count the recent telegrams and mail birds.”

  “You really don’t like each other, then.”

  “He doesn’t like me,” Emery corrected. “And I can’t blame him. But he’s not the most remarkable fellow himself.”

  “Emery!”

  The paper magician smiled, the expression all in his bright-green eyes, like he knew something Ceony didn’t. Ceony sighed. She would miss those eyes. But her test had been scheduled for three weeks from today. Compared with how long she’d already waited, three weeks was next to nothing.

  The buggy arrived. A violet paper butterfly rested on the seat beside the driver, bearing the cottage’s address on its right wing in Emery’s handwriting. Emery loaded Ceony’s suitcase into the automobile’s trunk before taking a seat beside her. The buggy turned around and headed back into London.

  “Relax,” Emery whispered after a few minutes on the road. He placed a hand over Ceony’s, which had been twisting a pleat in her skirt between thumb and middle finger. “You’ll be fine.”

  “Would I pass your test?” she asked back, keeping her words low. “If you tested me, would I pass?”

  “It’s all the same test. There are certain regulations.”

  “Maybe the answer keys are all the same,” Ceony began, “but that doesn’t make it all the same test.”

  Emery hummed an agreement. He said nothing more, only took Ceony’s hand between his own. The warmth of his skin buzzed up her arm like fireflies.

  The buggy drove through London, hitting a bit of horse traffic near Newington. Ceony focused on her pleats as the buggy passed over the River Thames. They drove by Parliament Square and headed west out of the main city, toward Shepherd’s Bush, where Mg. Bailey lived.

  Shepherd’s Bush was a mostly rural and residential area spotted with farmland. Ceony watched the houses scroll by, their yards and walls growing with each passing mile. She soon found herself staring at homes bigger than the cottage, then bigger than Mg. Aviosky’s house, then bigger yet. The space between the houses grew, too, and the street became narrower.

  She glanced at Emery, but he seemed just as curious as she. Of course he had never been to Mg. Bailey’s home.

  After a few more miles, the buggy reached the end of a long dirt road with a row of grass growing in the middle of it. The vehicle turned about in a wide circle, pulling up to a thick and well-pruned wall of bushes that acted as a fence around a property that seemed larger than the entire Mill Squats. The trim grounds had no flowers, only decorative shrubbery of all shapes and sizes.

  Ceony stepped out of the buggy, her movements sluggish, her mouth agape. The house itself stood a dozen times larger than the cottage, built of brick that looked like sandstone in the sun and mauve in the shade. Three chimneys rose from the tightly shingled roof, and every window held three glass panes trimmed with white. Ivy covered half the house, including a smaller section on the left that looked to be servants’ quarters but seemed unoccupied.

  The mansion dwarfed Ceony the way Big Ben might dwarf an ant. She had thought Mg. Aviosky’s house excessively large, but Ceony’s entire family, her cousins included, couldn’t possibly use all the space inside this manor.

  But perhaps the starkest difference was the lack of paper. Emery’s home was covered in paper wards and paper décor. Even the gardens sported paper plants. But not a shred of magic touched this house. It looked positively normal, if expensive.

  She glanced to Emery. “This can’t be the right place.”

  “Oh, I have a feeling it is,” he commented, circling the buggy to pull Ceony’s suitcase from the trunk. “The textbook industry must be doing remarkably well.”

  “Textbooks?”

  “Last I heard, that was Prit’s specialty. Enchanted textbooks that rewrite themselves depending on the student’s reading level, diagrams that pop off the page, and the like. Very popular in America. Did you not have them at Praff?”

  She frowned. “No, but wouldn’t that have been remarkable? Perhaps I wouldn’t have dragged my feet about Folding so much had my donor provided them.”

  Emery chuckled.

  Ceony scanned the bushes until she found an arched gateway several paces to her left. She took a few steps toward it before turning back to Emery and asking, “Do we . . . let ourselves in?”

  Emery opened his mouth to respond, then spied over the bushes and answered, “Seems help is on the way.”

  Ceony followed his gaze and stood on her toes. She spied a cobbled walkway leading from the mansion’s central door and a flash of sunny-blond hair bobbing along it—hair that made Ceony think of Delilah. Moments later the gate unbolted and a man Ceony’s age stepped through.

  Though it had been two years, Ceony recognized him immediately. “Bennet Cooper?” she asked. He had graduated with Ceony from Tagis Praff, having placed third in class. Ceony had placed first.

  Bennet offered a sheepish smile. Sunlight glinted off his straight, equally sunny hair. He wore simple tan slacks and a simple, white, collared shirt without pockets under his red apprentice’s vest. Ceony wondered if she should have worn her apprentice’s apron as well.

  “Hi, Ceony,” he said. He then stiffened like a soldier and added, “Magician Thane, it’s a pleasure to meet you finally.”

  Bennet took a few long strides and offered his hand to the paper magician, who stood taller in height by several inches. Emery shook the apprentice’s hand with an amused twinkle in his eye. Bennet continued. “I’ve heard a great many things about you.”

  “And you still shook my hand?” Emery asked. “Your mother raised you well.”

  Bennet blinked wide eyes. “Sir?”

  Emery patted Bennet’s shoulder and strolled up to the gate. “I’m sure Magician Bailey has chattered quite a bit about me in the last few days . . . Ah, here he comes now.”

  Bennet glanced in Ceony’s direction and finnicked with the elbows of his shirt before hurrying to the gate. He pushed it open and held it for several seconds before a tall man emerged.

  Ceony recognized him from the memory of Emery’s secondary-school experience, though Pritwin Bailey had certainly grown these last fifteen years. He stood straight and narrow, wearing simple clothes as Bennet did, though they had been well tailored and made of fine materials. His pale skin looked as if it had never seen the light of day, and his dark hair only made his complexion appear more washed out. He had a long, slim face free of any facial hair and a pair of thin, gold spectacles perched on his nose.

  But what struck Ceony foremost about his appearance was the lack of a smile on his face—or any sign of goodwill whatsoever.

  “Thane,” he said, clasping his hands behind his back. There would be no handshake, then. “You seem unchanged.”

  “I do try,” Emery replied. His lip qu
irked almost as if to smile, and Pritwin’s mood seemed to grow ever grimmer.

  Bennet cleared his throat. “Magician Bailey, this is Ceony Twill, Magician Thane’s apprentice.”

  “I know who she is,” Mg. Bailey said, and though his response was bland, Ceony didn’t detect malice in his tone. Good—the man had no reason to hold qualms against her, save by association. Mg. Bailey adjusted his spectacles and looked down at Ceony. “I hope you’ve come prepared. I have no intention of postponing your test for lack of study.”

  Ceony chewed and swallowed a frown before it could touch her lips. “I assure you, I’m quite prepared.”

  Emery said, “Miss Twill could take the test tonight and pass. I have every confidence in her abilities.”

  “Hmm,” Mg. Bailey said. “And that confidence is the reason you’re leaving her with me, is it?”

  “I’m sure there’s something you can teach her that’s slipped my mind. Something somewhere in this enormous house of yours. How are the acoustics, if I may ask?”

  Mg. Bailey’s face took on the puckered look of someone who has tasted a bad lemon. Bennet began playing with his sleeve elbows again.

  “I’m sure the acoustics are grand,” Ceony said, turning to Emery for her suitcase. She gave him a warning glare, but he pretended not to see it.

  “Oh, here, allow me,” Bennet chimed, hurrying forward to take the suitcase before Ceony could get a grip on it.

  “Well,” Emery said after a few seconds of silence between himself and the other Folder, “I suppose I should be on my way. You’re in well-practiced hands, Miss Twill. You may be a Folder the next time I see you.”

  Ceony paused at that, meeting Emery’s gaze, wondering if he noticed her surprise. I hope it’s not that long, she thought, urging him to read her mind. He smiled at her enigmatically.