In the farthest corner of the third floor, Jonto—Emery’s skeletal paper butler—hung by a noose from a nail in the ceiling, hovering over a mess of rolled paper tubes, tape, and symmetrical cuts of paper. Emery, wearing his newest coat, a maroon-colored one, stood on a stool beside him, affixing a six-foot-long bat wing to Jonto’s spine.
Ceony blinked, taking in the sight. She really shouldn’t be surprised.
“I thought I had a few more years before I saw the angel of death,” she said, folding her arms under her breasts. “Even just half of him.”
Emery teetered on the stool and glanced over his shoulders, both hands holding up the stiff paper that would form the end of Jonto’s left wing. His raven hair danced about his jaw as he did so, and his vivid green eyes gleamed like afternoon sunlight.
Even now, Ceony could lose herself in those eyes.
“Ceony!” he exclaimed, turning back to his project and finishing his work with the wing. “I wasn’t expecting you back for another hour!”
“Her requests weren’t as complicated as we feared,” Ceony said, a smile teasing her lips. “Care to explain why you’re making a dragon of Jonto?”
Emery stepped down from the stool and rolled his shoulders. “I had a peddler today.”
“A peddler?”
“Selling shoe polish,” he said. He rubbed the stubble at the base of his chin. “Decently priced, I must say.”
Ceony nodded. “And so Jonto needs wings.”
He smirked. “I haven’t had a peddler since I moved here,” he explained. He brushed bits of paper from his coat and pants and crossed the room, passing by the second version of his giant paper glider, as Ceony had lost the first one. “Apparently the place’s facade isn’t nearly as menacing as it used to be. I blame Joseph Conrad’s popularity for that. And since we’ve decided against the graveyard, I thought I’d have Jonto, or the ‘angel of death,’ as you so aptly put it, terrorize further inquisitors away.”
Ceony laughed. “You’re going to keep him outside? What if it rains?”
“Hmm,” Emery said, stroking one of his long sideburns. “I’ll have to make the wings detachable. I think it’s a viable option, though.”
He smiled, more in his eyes than in his mouth—the most genuine of smiles—clasped Ceony’s shoulders, and chastely kissed her on the mouth.
“Now,” he said, tucking that stray piece of hair back behind Ceony’s ear, “what do I have to do to convince you to make kidney pie for dinner?”
“Kidney pie?” Ceony repeated, brow raised. “Do we even have kidneys?”
“As of this morning,” he replied.
Ceony covered her mouth in feigned shock. “No. He didn’t buy groceries by himself, did he?”
“I had to meet with the Praff board. For apprentices,” he said with a shrug. “The boy I paid to pick up everything did a fine job.”
Ceony rolled her eyes, but her smile stayed. “All right, but I’ll have to start on it now. And I’m not gone yet, mind you.”
Emery squeezed her shoulders before releasing her. “They do like to stay ahead of things. Graduations have been a mess since Patrice left.”
Ceony nodded. Mg. Aviosky had resigned from the Tagis Praff School for the Magically Inclined a year and a half ago, after being offered a position on the Magicians’ Cabinet, Department of Education.
Excusing herself, Ceony headed back to the first floor, where an anxious Fennel sat by the stair door, waiting to be let up. The kidneys had been wrapped in paper and tucked into the kitchen icebox, which had a cold confetti spell cast over it. Ceony brushed off pieces of round confetti from the package and set to work. She rinsed the kidneys until the water ran clear, then fried them in a saucepan with bay leaf, thyme, and onion. She diced and mashed tomatoes while they cooked, but had to substitute a bit of vinegar for the mustard, since they were out.
With nothing urgent in her study roster, Ceony decided to break some eggs and whip up a crème brûlée for dessert; one of Mrs. Holloway’s maids had mentioned the dish was being served at the party, and now Ceony had a hankering for it. She beat the cream, egg yolks, and sugar until her arm ached, then poured the pudding into two ramekins, which she set in the oven next to the kidney pie.
When both dishes had finished baking, Ceony pulled them out and set the table. Listening for Emery’s footsteps and hearing none, she opened the cupboard where she kept her cookbooks and, from the binding of French Cuisine, retrieved a small matchbox, which contained a few matches and a ball of phosphorus. Palming it in her left hand, Ceony grabbed a wooden spoon with her right and said, “Material made by earth, your handler summons you. Unlink to me as I link through you, unto this very day.”
It was not the first time Ceony had severed her supposedly unbreakable bond to paper, nor was it the second. She set the spoon down, pressed her hand to her chest, and said, “Material made by man, I summon you. Link to me as I link to you, unto this very day.”
Finally, she lit a match and murmured, “Material made by man, your creator summons you. Link to me as I link to you through my years, until the day I die and become earth.”
She then grit her teeth and stuck her fingers into the flame. To her relief, it didn’t burn her, which meant she had bonded to it. Pyres were immune to fire they created themselves—a nice perk to the magic, needless to say.
Her skin tingled from the flames, a surprisingly pleasant sensation, until the match died out. She stuck the matchbox into her apron pocket. She’d need the ball of phosphorus to break her bond to fire, once she finished using it.
Opening the oven door, Ceony coaxed forward a spark with the command “Arise,” then pulled forth a small flame at the tip of her index finger with “Flare.”
Pyre magic was the last materials magic Ceony had tested for herself, for one slip could injure her or burn down the house. She had tried out her first spell with her feet submerged in the bathtub. Fortunately, she had only suffered a rather nasty blister. Now she confined herself to small, novice spells.
She used the tiny flame to caramelize the tops of her crème brûlée. Hearing Emery’s steps on the stairs, she blew out the fire rather than commanding it “Cease.”
“Smells wonderful,” Emery said, stepping into the dining room. “Ah, I got lost in myself. I should have set the table,” he added when he saw she had already done just that.
“I needed something to do while I browned this pastry,” Ceony said, grabbing a towel and carrying the kidney pie to the table.
Emery stroked her neck with the back of his fingers, sending cool shivers down her shoulders. “Thank you,” he said.
She smiled, feeling the slightest pink prickle her cheeks. Emery pulled out her chair and she sat, tugging off her apron and slinging it across the back.
Absent-mindedly, Ceony stuck her hand in her pocket and ran her fingers over the matchbox. She’d need to restore her bond to paper as soon as dinner concluded. Surely Emery wouldn’t give her a surprise test midmeal, not after she’d handled the Holloways’ party for him.
She stabbed a slice of kidney pie with her fork. In a way, the magic—the bond breaking—felt like cheating.
The man she had learned it from would probably agree, were he still alive.
CHAPTER 2
AFTER DINNER EMERY washed the dishes and Ceony hurried upstairs to her room, phosphorus in hand, to break her bond to fire. She resealed herself to paper while stroking Fennel’s hairless body, then took out her rubber buttons for examination. She wanted to use them to create sturdy padding for Fennel’s paws. They were close to the right size, so hopefully she wouldn’t have to manipulate the material too much. She could hardly ask for Emery’s assistance in such a task.
She paused, rubber in hand. Did she really have time to be doing this?
After learning the secrets of bond breaking in Mg. Aviosky’s home nearly two years ago—a secret only she knew—Ceony had awoken in a hospital bed. Her body, which had been sliced open like a Christmas turkey, wa
s intact, having been healed by an Excisioner. The magician who’d saved her life was legally sanctioned to work with his material, but the idea of anyone using blood magic on her was horrifying, particularly at that time, only moments after she’d watched an Excisioner murder her dear friend.
She had awoken as a Gaffer—a glass magician—having changed her material to save her life. After rebonding herself to paper, she had forced herself to forget Grath’s bizarre magic for two months.
But hers was a mind that couldn’t forget. She remembered everything, down to the most minute detail: her first spelling test in the fifth grade, the recipe for kidney pie, even the shoe buckles Mg. Aviosky wore the first time Ceony met her on September 18, 1901.
She remembered the way Mg. Aviosky’s body had hung from the rafters of her house, her wrists swollen and her head lolling to one side. She remembered every piece of glass that had cut through her own skin—she felt them slicing through her now and shivered, rubbing the gooseflesh away. And she remembered the terrified look in her friend Delilah’s eyes well enough that, had she any skill in drawing, she could sketch it blindfolded.
So she knew exactly how Grath Cobalt had broken and resealed his bonds to become an Excisioner.
She had told Emery about her new ability in the hospital—proved it, even—without sharing the details. He had never asked for them. What little knowledge he possessed about her ability to shift materials had not sat comfortably. Understandable—Ceony had more or less achieved the equivalent of breaking gravity. She hadn’t shared her desire to delve into the other magics, what with their newfound relationship being as precarious as it was.
Initially, she’d planned to never test her new, unwanted knowledge, and she’d allowed him to think she still felt that way. While she didn’t think he would judge her, she couldn’t stomach the thought of disappointing him.
So a secret it had stayed.
At first she set strict rules for herself: no studies in other materials magics until her Folding studies had been completed, along with all her other duties as an apprentice. She’d only broken her rule a few times, for spells too alluring and interesting to pass up, like enchanting bullets or altering her image in a mirror’s reflection.
But now, with the test for her magicianship only a month away, could she really spare time to adhere rubber to her paper pup’s paws?
She closed her fingers around the rubber buttons. A part of her knew she was ready. She knew how to mold and animate creatures made of dozens of pieces of paper. She knew how to create the most abstruse paper illusions, how to construct fifty-four different paper chains, and how to make paper vibrate so quickly it exploded. She could probably teach her own apprentice!
But still . . . Ceony didn’t know what she would be tested on, or how. Emery claimed he could not reveal any details about the testing process. For that reason alone, Ceony knew she should study harder. Study Folding, study every possible angle of paper magic. Any articles or essays that might be new to her, even if the content wasn’t.
With a sigh, she set down the rubber buttons. She still had leisure time. There would be the opportunity to upgrade Fennel then.
Glancing up, Ceony peered out her window, which was half-concealed by the branches of an alder tree. A brilliant pink highlighted the tree’s leaves, and the sky beyond looked lavender.
Tucking back that stray piece of hair, Ceony walked to the library, where the window was broader and un-skewed.
The view was beautiful.
Ceony had never appreciated sunsets until becoming a Folding apprentice. Her home in the Mill Squats had been surrounded by tall buildings, which blocked out the horizon and most of the sky. At Tagis Praff, despite having a room on the sixth floor of the student tower, she’d always been too focused on her endless mounds of homework to give heed to the palette of the setting sun.
Here at the cottage, where city met country, where no other people or architecture could obstruct her vision, Ceony had discovered the allure of sunsets.
Tonight several chunky clouds haloed the sun, acting as canvas to its dying light. They glowed a bright apricot where they were closest to the cap of gold descending beyond the hills, turning salmon and violet farther out, until they met the deepening azure of the evening sky. The clouds looked like ethereal creatures, sky-fish swimming across the blue expanse, following the sun to the other side of the world.
A hand settled on her shoulder, just at the base of her neck, pulling Ceony from the mural beyond the glass.
“How hopelessly romantic,” Emery said, the corner of his lip tugging upward almost enough to make a dimple. His eyes took on a more olive hue in the window’s light. His fingers felt cold from the dishwater.
“Just like the novels,” Ceony agreed, stepping back into his arm and leaning against him. “The same thought occurred to me. I was rather hoping we could re-create a scene from Jane Eyre.”
“I admit I’m ignorant on that one.”
“Quite good,” she said. “In a sad way, but it ends well.”
Emery turned toward her and lifted his hand to her jaw. “As long as it ends well,” he said. He ran his thumb along her cheek and studied her for a moment, his gem-like eyes gliding over her mouth, her cheekbones, her eyes. Ceony loved it when he looked at her like that. It made her feel . . . present.
She stood on her toes, and Emery closed the rest of the space between them, touching his lips to hers.
Despite her keen memory, Ceony couldn’t recall how many times she’d kissed Emery Thane since that day outside the train station nearly two years ago. Many times, yet the feel of his mouth still filled her with childish delight, still made her blood course faster.
Perhaps too fast.
Her fingers danced up his neck and over his earlobes, traced the length of his sideburns and the day’s worth of stubble that bordered them. The smells of him—brown sugar, stationery, charcoal—filled her lungs as she broke for a breath. Then she kissed him the way a lady should never kiss a man to whom she was not wed.
The tip of his tongue slid over her bottom lip, but he wouldn’t oblige for long. Sometimes Ceony wished he would forget she was a lady. He certainly never forgot he was a gentleman, no matter how hard Ceony tried to coax the rogue out of him.
Her back met a bookshelf. She curled a lock of Emery’s hair around her pinky, enticing him further. It worked for a moment, a second, really, before the kiss began to slow, Emery reining himself in as always. Kisses like these could lead to other things, especially in a house where the only possible interruption came in the form of a paper dog. But Emery—noble Emery—would not do other things with Ceony outside the bond of matrimony, and he wouldn’t marry her so long as she held the title of “apprentice.” He had said so himself, twice.
All the more reason for her to test for her magicianship as soon as possible.
They broke apart, their breaths spanning the short distance between them.
Ceony opened her eyes. “Yes, just like in the novels,” she whispered.
Emery chuckled, then kissed her forehead. “These books you’re reading . . . I question your taste, Miss Twill.”
She straightened the collar of his maroon coat. “I’ll read what I please, Mr. Thane.”
“I have a suggestion,” he said with a wry smile, stepping away and glancing back at the sunset, which had already grown ruddier. “I have a dissertation on eighteenth-century Folding basics on interlibrary loan. It’s wonderfully dry and has all its nouns capitalized. I think you’ll enjoy it.”
Ceony frowned. “You want me to study primitive Folding techniques?”
“Only subprimitive,” he said, a smirk playing on his lips. “It never hurts to go back to basics, even if you think you know them.”
“I do know them.”
“Are you sure?”
Ceony paused. “Is this a hint for my test?”
Emery stuck his hands in his trouser pockets. “I am not allowed to give you any hints, Ceony. I wouldn’t dare
jeopardize your passing.”
His tone grew a little more serious on that last sentence. Stepping over to the table against the west wall, he patted his hand on a worn book as thick as Ceony’s wrist. Her shoulders slumped. Surely this tome wouldn’t help her win her magicianship.
But she was not any more willing to risk her chances of passing than Emery was. Sighing—louder than necessary—Ceony grasped the heavy volume in both hands and heaved it onto her hip.
The telegraph on the table began tapping.
Emery raised an eyebrow. Ceony held still and listened intently, translating the Morse code in her head. An interesting query. I acce—
“Study hard,” Emery said with a hand on her back. He pushed her toward the hallway.
“But what about—”
His eyes brightened. “It’s a secret, dearest.” And with that, he shut the library door.
Ceony frowned, then pressed her ear to the wood, trying to make out the sound of the telegraph. Two seconds later Emery pounded against the door. He had already learned all her eavesdropping tactics during their time together.
Frowning, Ceony retreated into her bedroom and cracked open the dissertation, waving away the dust that spun up from its thick cover.
“Chapter One: The Half-Point Fold.”
It was going to be a long night.
The clouds thickened after the sunset, veiling the night stars. By the time Ceony turned off her lamp to go to sleep, rain had begun to fall. It came first as a sprinkle, then a shower. A gale picked up and woke Ceony as it whistled through the eaves, ripping bits of paper illusion spells from the walls and fence. No amount of waterproofing could save the spells from a squall like this one.
As the night grew colder, rain turned to hail. It clacked against the roof and window like a thousand telegraphed messages. Covering her head with her pillow, Ceony returned to her slumber . . .
Rain surrounded her in her bedroom, pouring down through a vanished roof, pelting the furniture and peeling paper art from the walls. Ceony stood in the middle of the room in a black skirt and white button-up shirt with a gray ascot around her neck—her student uniform from the Tagis Praff School for the Magically Inclined. She stood over a drain in the floor, but something was clogging it. Rainwater puddled about her feet, and she smashed her shoe into the drain over and over, trying to force the water down.
The Master Magician (The Paper Magician Series Book 3) Page 2