The Master Magician (19 page)

She slammed her pencil tip onto the table, breaking it off. She’d beaten Lira. She’d beaten Grath. And yet still no one would confide in her! No one would let her
help
.

She couldn’t go to Reading to try and track Saraj down, could she? Her magician’s test was approaching rapidly. Could she scour an entire city searching for one elusive man? Her clues at Gosport had been found by luck alone. She hadn’t even been able to deduce where Emery had gone off to.

But she had a better chance of beating him than anyone else. She could play both prey and predator. She could be Mg. Cantrell and Mg. Hughes and Mg. Aviosky and Emery all in one.

She scanned the mimic spell. Paused. Touched her necklace.

Whatever Mg. Aviosky knew, Mg. Hughes told her. And Ceony had a hunch as to how he’d conveyed the information.

She’d strike in the afternoon, when Mg. Aviosky would be away for her educational duties.

By this time tomorrow, Ceony would know, too.

C
HAPTER
13

T
HERE WERE TWO
nice things about mirror-transporting to the home of a Gaffer. First, there were dozens of available mirrors large enough for Ceony to fit through. Second, all the mirrors were crafted from Gaffer’s glass, so they were free of impurities, which made the travel incredibly safe. Delilah had once told Ceony that one should
only
travel through Gaffer’s glass to avoid becoming trapped, but so far Ceony hadn’t afforded the caution.

Ceony’s socked feet stepped soundlessly into Mg. Aviosky’s mirror room on the third floor of her home. Ceony entered through a rectangular mirror taller than she was, and the swirling portal of its glass smoothed as soon as she made it through. She paused, holding her breath, listening to the creaks of the house. As far as her ears could tell, the house was empty.

She rubbed shivers from her neck. This mirror room was not the same as the one in which Delilah had died, but the mirrors were, and Mg. Aviosky had arranged them in the same way. Ceony hadn’t been surrounded by these mirrors since the day Grath Cobalt had jerked her through the doorway and sliced open her skin with hundreds of window shards.

Ceony glanced to the corner, imagining Delilah strapped to a chair there. She felt hollow. Hollow, and an almost unbearable chill.

She shook her head, willing sad thoughts away. Mg. Aviosky herself had said it would do no good to dwell on the memories. Such an easy thing for the Gaffer to claim. If only Ceony’s memories dulled as easily as others’ did.

She searched for one mirror in particular—the one she’d used to contact Mg. Hughes as she lay bleeding on the floor beside Grath. Mg. Hughes had never asked her how she managed to contact him; he likely thought Delilah or Mg. Aviosky had performed the spell. And Mg. Aviosky . . . well, she had been unconscious at the time. She’d never questioned just how Mg. Hughes had come to the rescue.

Ceony turned around and spotted the mirror behind her. It had been moved. She approached its dark frame.

“Reflect, past,” she said, fingers to the glass. Her image swirled. As in Gosport, Ceony rolled the images of the mirror backward, carefully watching them scroll. She saw sunlight fade and dim, saw Mg. Aviosky enter, use a different mirror, leave. The room darkened, lightened. Mg. Aviosky appeared again, standing right where Ceony now stood.

“Hold,” Ceony commanded, and the image of the Gaffer froze. Ceony focused on Mg. Aviosky’s spectacles, where she saw a reflection of Mg. Hughes in the lenses.

She scrolled back a little further and played out the conversation.

“—found her body near Waddesdon,” Mg. Hughes said, his voice low and tired. Ceony couldn’t see his reflection in the mirror, only his skewed face in Mg. Aviosky’s glasses. “The heart was harvested, but no blood drained. I doubt he had time. I won’t know the details for sure until the autopsy . . .”

Mg. Aviosky’s face grew waxy and pale. Her lips quivered, but she said nothing.

“We’re contacting her family tonight,” Mg. Hughes continued. “In the meantime I’m sending patrol into Oxford and Aylesbury. We’ll find him, Patrice.”

Ceony froze the image. “He’s heading back to London,” she whispered. “He’s coming for me.”

She rolled her lips together—this was information Criminal Affairs didn’t have. Closing her eyes, she pulled forward the memory of Mg. Bailey’s map, traced her mind’s eye over London, Waddesdon, Oxford, Aylesbury. If Saraj was going to pass through any of those cities, Ceony would bet a year’s worth of stipends it was Aylesbury, which was closer to London. She had little time to prepare.

Breaking the spell, Ceony turned back for the mirror she had come through, using it to return to the lavatory on the third floor of Mg. Bailey’s mansion. She gathered her things from the sink—toothbrush, comb, handkerchief—and brought them into her room, laying them out beside Fennel on the bed. She needed to pack light, but smart. Anything she could use. Plus anything she’d need for spells—

A shadow passed over the afternoon sunlight streaming into her room. Peering out the window, Ceony again spied the paper hawk from before, flying vulture-like circles beside the house. Such a peculiar pet for Mg. Bailey to keep around.

She checked the windowsill, but Emery had once again failed to contact her. She tapped her fingernails against the sill. Why had he stopped? It was starting to anger her. Emery Thane wasn’t the passive-aggressive type. If he had an agenda, he would open his mouth and—

Her thoughts cut off. She looked again at the hawk. A strange choice of pet, indeed. That was the beneficial thing about paper animals—so long as they didn’t get wet, they required less maintenance than real creatures. Take Fennel, for instance. Ceony never had to walk him, bathe him, clean up after him. Feed him.

And what do hawks eat?
Ceony thought, retreating from the window. She pulled a square of paper off her breakfast table and Folded a songbird. Animating it, she opened her window and tossed it into the spring air. The small bird fluttered back and forth for a moment, then flew toward the tree line at the edge of Mg. Bailey’s property.

And, like a real bird of prey, the hawk swooped down and intercepted it, snatching the bird in its long paper talons. Then it glided toward the mansion, where it perched near one of the windows of the first floor, the paper bird still in tow.

Mg. Bailey’s office.

Ceony’s hand rushed to her mouth.
He knows
, she thought, chills raining onto her from every direction. She hadn’t seen the hawk in her first few days at the mansion because Mg. Bailey hadn’t
built
it yet. He must have seen the birds leaving Ceony’s window . . . or the creatures coming
to
her window. Messages from Emery. Messages he could break the confidentiality spells on. Messages that revealed her relationship with . . .

She stepped back from the pane. Emery hadn’t stopped writing her; Mg. Bailey had intercepted his letters. Read them. He—

And like oil heating in a pan, something in Ceony
popped
. Searing heat evaporated any trace of fear. Reddened her face. Quickened her heart.

“How
dare
he!” she shouted. She stormed from her bedroom, unshod feet hammering into the floorboards of the hall, banging down two sets of stairs. Steaming, Ceony strode right to Mg. Bailey’s office and threw open the door.

The room was unoccupied. The hawk remained perched outside the window.

Ceony rushed into the room, scanning the desktop, and pulled open one drawer after another. The bottom drawer on the right stuck—locked.

Her hand reached under her collar to her necklace. She murmured a few quick words and became a Smelter. She pressed her thumb to the lock, hoping it was made of an alloy, and commanded it, “Unlatch.”

The lock clicked and Ceony yanked the drawer open. Inside was an assortment of skewed papers in various colors, once Folded,
now just crinkled. They were covered in handwriting, both hers and Emery’s.

She jerked out a violet sheet and smoothed it out in her hands.

I imagine you’re swamped with preparations for your exam. Don’t overexert yourself. You’re bright; you’ll win. Don’t forget to relax once in a while; hopefully this will help, if this bat can even carry it that far!

Let me know how you’re doing. I tend to worry, love.

Ceony’s lips parted. She turned the paper over, then over again, noticing a smear of brown at its bottom. She smelled it. Chocolate. What had Emery sent her? And how long ago?

She smoothed out a teal paper.

I think I’m going to reorganize the library shelves by book thickness. What do you think? All the quick reads in one place, all the heavy tomes (your favorite) in another.

An orange paper that had once been a crane read, in her handwriting,
I’m worried about you. Why haven’t you written? Has something come up? Do you need help?

A gray paper that had been wadded into a ball read, in Emery’s penmanship,
I hope I’m not bothering you, or that you’ve moved rooms. Remember to think outside the box. I believe in you, Ceony. Also, I’m either suddenly allergic to walnuts or whatever wool the grocery lad had on today.

Another bat, white, reading,
Alfred confirmed Saraj’s sighting. He has officers watching your family, and one who comes by the cottage a couple times a day. I’ll keep you posted—

“What are you doing?” Mg. Bailey’s sharp voice cut from the doorway, jerking Ceony to her feet. His pale skin flushed, and his
shoulders grew rigid. He stomped toward her, reaching for the note in her hand. “This is trespassing—”

“And this is stealing!” Ceony shouted back, loud enough that her voice echoed off the walls. She pulled her hand back, keeping the notes from Mg. Bailey’s reach.

“Stealing!” the Folder repeated. “On my property? Perhaps you should have tried harder to hide your little secrets. You’re lucky I haven’t reported you, Ceony Twill!”

“Go ahead!” she said. “Report me! Read the rule book,
Prit
. I’ve done nothing wrong, and neither has he. Why do you think he’d send me here? Why do you think I’d
tolerate
being under the same roof with a man as intolerable and insufferable as you? It’s in the interest of fairness! Not that you could understand that concept!”

She stooped and snatched up the remaining stolen letters. Again Mg. Bailey tried to grab for them, but she back-stepped before he could get a grip.

“It’s not his fault, you know,” she said, seething. “It’s neither Magician Thane’s fault nor mine that you’re so depressed and angry all the time. You feed off your own sourness. You grow it like a vineyard!”

The Folder’s eyes widened.

“You wonder why no one likes you,” she spat, stepping around the desk. She charged for the door, escaped into the hallway. Mg. Bailey didn’t follow.

She reached the staircase out of breath, fumbling with her mess of notes. At the top of the stairs she saw Bennet, searching the well with worry on his face. What had he heard? No details from such a distance, but certainly the shouting.

Ceony met his gaze. It bore into her like a cold spike. She glanced away, glanced back. Took a deep breath. Collecting the letters, she shoved them into her skirt pocket and returned to the office.

Mg. Bailey sat facing the window. His glasses rested on top of his head, and one hand massaged his right temple.

When Ceony spoke, he startled.

“I suppose . . . that was a bit harsh,” she said, stiff-backed in her efforts to stay cool. “I apologize for that, though I in no way condone any of . . . this.” She waved her hand before the desk.

Mg. Bailey merely eyed her, his expression unreadable. She wasn’t sure he could even see her clearly without his glasses.

“You’re smart, Magician Bailey,” she said, “and obviously very successful. Bennet speaks well of you, and he’s never given me reason to disbelieve him.”

“Is there a point to this, Miss Twill?” Mg. Bailey asked.

“What I mean to say is that you have good traits. I just wish you’d
use
them for good. You can’t be content meddling with other people’s lives like this.”

Mg. Bailey snorted.

“You think I’ve misjudged you,” she said, folding her arms, “but you’ve misjudged me. You sized me up before you ever met me, Pritwin Bailey. I have no doubt about that. I can only hope we’ll find a right foot somewhere on this bumpy road.”

She turned to leave but hesitated. Glancing back, she added, “And if any of your personal feelings toward me alter the outcome of my magician’s test, I’ll know, and I
will
report you to the Cabinet.”

She waited an extra second for a response, but when none came, she excused herself and tromped back to the stairs in a much slower, calmer fashion. She slipped a hand into her letter-filled pocket. She couldn’t send a bird from the mansion, not with that hawk scouting the grounds. Instead she spied into the cottage lavatory with her makeup compact. No towels hung on the wall; no sounds pierced the lavatory walls.

“Cease,” Ceony said, shutting her compact. She could send a bird after she left the estate. She had an Excisioner to find, and this time neither of them would leave the confrontation running.