The Master Magician (The Paper Magician Series Book 3)

by Charlie N. Holmberg

  “I’ve come to put you down,” Ceony growled.

  Saraj laughed and clapped his hands, though the motion didn’t disturb the glowing spell that awaited him on his right fingers.

  “All a game,” Saraj said, rooting his feet, stiffening. His grin grew lopsided, almost into a snarl. “And now kitten is on the board. I still need a heart, kitten. I suppose yours will do.”

  Cold sweat chilled Ceony from crown to knee. Saraj jerked forward.

  Ceony flinched and fired.

  The blast echoed between canal walls and off Simond’s Brewery, surely loud enough to alert someone. Ceony couldn’t see where she had hit Saraj until he lifted his glowing hand to his collar. The bullet had pierced just under it on the right. He coughed, wheezed, but the orange light of his spell quickly seeped into the wound and closed it up. He pulled his hand away seconds later and dropped the bullet onto the pavement.

  “Checkmate,” Saraj said.

  “Wrong game, friend,” Ceony countered, lowering her pistol. “I wasn’t firing for the bullet.”

  No. She’d fired for the spark.

  “Flare!” she cried, and the tiny spark she’d pulled from the pistol spit and grew, building a fire in her left palm. Giving her enough light to see Saraj’s wide eyes.

  “Combust!” she called, and she flung her left hand forward, sending a hailstorm of fire raining down on Saraj. With her eyes adjusted to the dark and her target so close, the fire’s brightness seared her eyes, stealing her sight for a moment. Ceony staggered back, blinking away spots. Smoke assailed her nostrils. Coughing, Ceony backed up and croaked an “Arise” command, beckoning a spark back to her hand, preparing to finish off the Excisioner.

  But as the hailstorm cleared, leaving scattered weeds and a board of the dock burning, Ceony’s adjusting eyes couldn’t pinpoint Saraj in the darkness. She whirled around once, twice, and commanded her little flame, “Flare!”

  The fire grew in her palm, casting topaz light over the docks. Empty. Creaking.

  Familiar shivers crept up her arms and back. She couldn’t have incinerated the man! Where had he gone? Jumped into the river?

  Her eyes focused on the black depths of the canal, the shivers growing ever colder. Had he teleported? Where was he? Watching her?

  Ceony ran.

  She ran hard and fast, her self-made wind snuffing out the flames still licking her fingers.

  She ran down lit streets and around sharp corners until she heard the piano music still streaming from the inn. She grabbed the door handle and wrenched it open, dodging inside. The door slammed closed behind her.

  A few patrons—only a dozen or so lingered in the foyer—glanced at her, but the music radiating from the corner of the room had apparently drowned out her arrival.

  Ceony pressed her back against the door and slunk down to the floor, shrinking from the windows, breathing hard. She closed her eyes and beat the back of her head against the door’s wood.

  On the board now. Does that mean I’ve put myself in his path?

  Smelt to hell, I showed him Pyre magic. If Grath ever confided in him . . . Saraj knows what I can do. A man like him would kill for that information. Stupid. Stupid.

  Realizing she still held her pistol, Ceony stashed it in her bag before she alarmed anyone. She clasped her Folded songbird and pulled it free, pinching its narrow body in her fingers. She worried that by tracking Saraj down, she may have endangered Emery. Would the Excisioner go after him—after her family—for use as bait or persuasion, or would he head straight for her? She’d likely burned him badly; how easily could he heal himself? Could he come for her tonight?

  Fumbling with her limbs, Ceony found her feet and hurried across the room as the piano man began a new tune. She approached a vested man behind a small bar and asked, “Please, is the owner awake?”

  The man eyed her. “I’m he. What’s wrong, lass?”

  “Do you have a telegraph I could use? It’s urgent.”

  Sweat trickled down her back.

  “Got rid of it,” he said, leaning his elbows on the bar. “Telephones are the new trend.”

  He gestured with a tilt of his head to the upright, black-lacquered telephone at the back of the bar.

  “It uses an operator?”

  The man nodded. “Go ahead and try it. Will you need a room?”

  Ceony didn’t answer but seized the phone and, with evident clumsiness, managed to connect to the local police.

  “An Excisioner named Saraj Prendi is in Reading,” she said into the telephone’s mouthpiece. “He’s dangerous, seen by the docks not fifteen minutes ago. Please tell the Magicians’ Criminal Affairs.”

  She hung up without leaving her name.

  After staying the night acutely awake in the inn lobby in Reading, Ceony used her return train ticket early in the morning, hoping to avoid the notice of watching eyes. She bribed a buggy driver to take her to Mg. Bailey’s with some premade Folded spells, ones that could sell in the market for a decent price. With any luck, Saraj was holed up in Reading, licking his wounds.

  Ceony managed to doze in the buggy, even dreamed that her fire spell had riled Saraj enough to scare him from England for good. But when the rough road leading to the Bailey residence woke her, she knew the idea to be only a dream. If anything, she had given Saraj a motive for revenge.

  She wondered again if Grath had confided in Saraj about his desire to break his bond. If so, Saraj would know exactly what Ceony had done. No Folder could throw fire like that.

  She dragged her heavy feet toward the mansion. Now there was a risk that the secret to bond breaking would fall into the hands of an Excisioner. Still, the Pyre spell had been her only way to escape. It had been that or her life . . . but if it came down to it, she’d die before revealing Grath’s secrets to accessing all materials magics. She wouldn’t let Saraj—or anyone else—use the knowledge for ill.

  But I can’t keep everything secret, she thought as she approached the front door. I have to tell Emery the truth. Saraj will think I’m at the cottage. I can’t risk Emery’s life.

  She reached for the knob, but the door swung open before her fingers made contact.

  Bennet stood on the other side, looking about as tired as she felt, his hair in disarray, his shirt half-tucked.

  “Ceony!” he said, half-scolding and half-relieved. “Thank the Lord you made it back!”

  Ceony stiffened. “Has Magician Bailey—”

  Bennet shook his head. “He hasn’t so much as mentioned your name. He’s in his study doing . . . something.”

  The fellow apprentice stood aside to let Ceony in. “So where were you?”

  Delilah’s face flashed through Ceony’s mind.

  “A cousin of mine got into a bad lot,” she lied. “Gambling . . . He wasn’t specific. But he couldn’t collect enough money and he wound up in a cell, even though he’s only seventeen. Apparently he sent a letter to Magician Thane’s home asking for help—he was too embarrassed to ask his father—and Magician Thane sent it to me in a bird.”

  Bennet rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s awful. How much was it?”

  “Not too much,” Ceony said, pasting on a smile. “He was two pounds short.”

  Bennet frowned. “I’m sure Magician Bailey could reimburse you if you explained—”

  “Oh no,” Ceony said, dropping her voice. She glanced down the hall to ensure the Folder was nowhere in sight. “He’s only told me. John, that is. My cousin. He made me promise not to breathe a word of it to anyone. His reputation, you see. He wants to be a journalist, and they can get picked apart. He needs a clean slate. I shouldn’t have even told you.”

  “But to have a woman go out in the middle of the night—”

  “I’m a magician,” Ceony said with a wry grin. “Almost, at least. I can get out of tight spots, even if it’s just with paper.”

  Bennet seemed to relax a bit. “I suppose that’s true. But I would have gone with you.”

  “I appreciate
it.” She yawned. “I guess I need a bit of rest, though. It was a long trip, once you add everything up.”

  “Can I bring you breakfast?”

  “I’m all right,” she assured him. She offered a last smile before heading down the hall and up the two flights of stairs to her bedroom, where she’d left the window open. She searched the sill, the brick outside, and the rest of her room for a message from Emery, but found none.

  Her ribs squeezed in. Since arriving at Mg. Bailey’s home, Emery had sent her a message every day, even if just a brief note. Why hadn’t he last night? Even a vengeful Excisioner couldn’t have stopped yesterday evening’s letter.

  She rubbed sleep from her eyes and pinched phosphorus and glass on her necklace before heading into the lavatory next door. Now a Gaffer, Ceony traced the boundaries of the mirror there and sought out the mirror in the lavatory of Emery’s home, which she had previously named “Cottage One.” She used one spell to spy into the room, ensuring its vacancy, and a second spell to initiate a transport.

  The glass rippled, a liquid portal, and Ceony passed through.

  CHAPTER 12

  IT FELT LIKE AGES since Ceony had left the cottage, though in truth less than a week had passed.

  She stepped down into the sink and leapt onto the lavatory floor, then peered back into the mirror to adjust her blouse and hair. She’d tell Emery she’d come in through the front door after taking a buggy to the house—she still had the key.

  Ceony made her way down the hall, peeking briefly into her room. The bed had been remade, and she smiled. Emery’s odd knack for tidiness had him folding and tucking blanket corners as though crafting a spell, and while he had demonstrated to Ceony how to properly make a bed, she’d never taken the time to mimic the art. She often kept the door to her room closed just so Emery wouldn’t be tempted to rearrange her things, but with her out of the house, there was nothing to stop him.

  He must be bored.

  She passed her room and stuck her head into the library, but the paper magician wasn’t there. The table and telegraph had both been moved to the right of the window, however. Terribly bored, then.

  Across the hall, she knocked softly on Emery’s bedroom door. When she didn’t get a response, she pushed it open. The room, cluttered yet neat, lay empty before her.

  She stepped back into the hall and opened the door to the stairs that led to the third floor. “Emery?” she called. She listened for a response but received none. Nor did she hear any shuffling or footsteps.

  Her heart beat a little quicker. “You’re being paranoid,” she murmured to herself. Ceony retreated down the hall and took the stairs to the first floor.

  He wasn’t in the dining room or kitchen, and Ceony noticed the distinct lack of noise in the cottage, like the building itself had settled into a deep, snoreless slumber.

  Her fingers danced over her necklace as she moved to the front of the house, changing her material allegiance from glass to fire. Pyre magic was by far the most aggressive of the materials magics. Being armed with it—and matches from the stove to provide her with a flame whenever she needed one—made Ceony feel a little more powerful, a little safer.

  She checked the office and the front room, the front yard and backyard, but Emery was in none of them. Even Jonto had been ceased. He’d left the house, then. He hadn’t mentioned any plan to go away.

  Uneasy, Ceony went back to the magician’s bedroom and checked his closet. His magician’s uniform hung there, so he hadn’t left on any formal business. Perhaps he’d gone to the market for groceries, but Emery hated that chore and would hire a runner to do it for him if at all possible.

  Ceony scanned his dresser, his nightstand, his bookshelves. She saw no sign of her Folded birds. She opened a few drawers and even glanced under the bed. Where did he keep them? Or had he thrown them away? But Emery wouldn’t toss her notes to him, would he?

  She frowned, but thoughts of Saraj pushed missish worries away. Could he have come for Emery?

  She searched the rooms again, one by one, until she made it back to the front door. No signs of blood or struggle, no signs of a break-in. Becoming a Gaffer again, Ceony used a piece of glass from her purse to magnify the kitchen and dining room floor, searching for anything—a drop of missed blood, a piece of Saraj’s hair, perhaps. Nothing. She even did a reflection spell on the lavatory mirror to see what had happened in that room over the past day—that is, until the mirror displayed Emery undressing. She broke the spell and left the lavatory with red cheeks.

  She leaned against the hallway wall by her bedroom door. “He must be safe, then,” she said. Hearing the words out loud gave her some small comfort.

  Ceony waited several long minutes there, hoping she’d hear Emery unlock the front door, but the cottage remained silent. Peeling herself from the wall, Ceony went to the library and scrawled a note on a yellow square of paper there:

  Patrice told me Saraj had been spotted near Berkshire. Please be careful.

  Love you.

  She Folded the paper into a songbird and left it on Emery’s bedroom windowsill, making it look like she’d sent the bird from the mansion. Then she slipped back through the lavatory glass and into her room at Mg. Bailey’s residence, where she finally managed to get a few hours of sleep.

  Three days.

  Three days of waiting for Saraj to make his move, of sending out birds to survey the area, of searching Mg. Bailey’s daily newspapers for articles about Excisioners. Three days since her run-in with Saraj in Reading, and she hadn’t heard one peep.

  Not from him, and not from Emery.

  Ceony still sent her birds—or moths, or bats—to Emery every evening as soon as twilight promised to hide their departure, but she hadn’t received a response. That made four days without any contact with him, and she knew he’d returned to the cottage. She’d checked Cottage One through the glass in the lavatory and seen his wet towel hanging on the wall.

  So why had Emery stopped responding to her?

  She doodled water lilies in the margins of her ledger as this question plagued her. She sat at the table in the apprentices’ study, across from Bennet, who labored over the links of an expansion chain. The command “Enlarge” would make the wearer of the chain appear larger to passersby. How large depended on the thickness of the paper. A rather complicated illusion spell, given the make of each link. It was one Ceony planned to use in her preparations for her magician’s test: #37. Something to defend against a tramp.

  But, once again, Ceony found she had a hard time concentrating on her studies.

  Mg. Bailey had certainly given her space, though he still asked her to sit in on Bennet’s evening lessons. He’d stopped ragging on Emery, but Ceony’s relationship with the belligerent Folder had hardly become peaches and cream. In fact, Mg. Bailey’s demeanor toward Ceony had soured further, if such a thing were possible. For days he’d looked at her with outright suspicion, treating her as the suspect to his detective. She could only guess that the man had noticed a scratch on his Mercedes and assumed Ceony to be the guilty party. And she was, more or less. Still, Ceony didn’t care enough to ask Mg. Bailey if his breeches had grown too tight. She had enough men to worry about!

  What if . . . she wondered, stilling her pen, What if Emery’s grown tired of me?

  Preposterous. Wasn’t it? They got on splendidly, all the time. He loved her. They’d even discussed marriage! Ceony could laugh at the idea of him growing bored with her.

  And yet she didn’t. She blinked rapidly to hide a tear, then glanced at Bennet to see if he’d noticed, but his chain spell demanded all his attention. Taking a deep breath, Ceony finished her doodle.

  What if he’s using Magician Bailey as an excuse to distance us? she wondered. What if all of this is meant to be some sort of cushion so he can break our relationship cleanly?

  Mg. Emery Thane had been married before, and it had ended very, very badly. Ceony had seen firsthand the damage that relationship had done to him, the ja
gged crack it had left in his heart. Surely that canyon had not yet been filled. And what if it never was? What if Emery couldn’t handle the commitment once Ceony graduated from his tutelage and their romance became public?

  What if Ceony was only ever meant to be a secret?

  You’ll kill yourself thinking like that, she chided herself, gripping her pen tighter. Be reasonable. There must be an explanation.

  She wondered where Emery had gone the day she’d transported to his cottage and left that warning. He hadn’t even replied to that.

  “Do you remember Magician Whitmill?”

  Ceony glanced up at Bennet’s words. He held a completed chain link in his hands, and his blue eyes smiled at her. They made her think of a teddy bear.

  Ceony blinked to clear her mind, to pull her thoughts away from Emery for long enough to search her memory for the name. It rang a bell, and her mind zoomed back nearly three years to her first semester at Tagis Praff. She sat in the auditorium of the school on the aisle, beside a classmate she didn’t know, but whose face she recalled with perfect clarity, for all the good it would do her. In her mind’s eye she looked ahead at the stage, at the portly Polymaker with gray-streaked hair and a gray-streaked mustache. She laughed.

  Bennet smiled. “So you do?”

  “He was recruiting for his textile company in Virginia,” Ceony stated. “He brought in that huge pin board full of product and knocked it over with his hip when he bent down to pick up his handkerchief.”

  Bennet chuckled. “I shouldn’t have laughed, but I did. I don’t think anyone took him seriously for the rest of the lecture.”

  Letting her ledger close, Ceony asked, “What brought that up?”

  He shrugged. “Just thinking, I guess. Folding makes for good thinking. I wanted to be a Polymaker, you know.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “I only decided the month before graduation,” Bennet admitted. “So much has yet to be discovered in Polymaking, and it would be interesting to find new spells for a new magic. Before that, I had thought rubber would be an interesting trade. Or, rather, my father did. He works facilities at a Siping factory.”