The Glass Magician

Ceony recalled the intense heat on her face as the fire soared toward the sky. She could only imagine how much hotter it must have been inside. By the time she and Emery had left the police station, fourteen casualties had already been reported. Ceony had read the list—no one with the surname “Johnston” had been on it.

Closing her eyes, Ceony replayed the explosion, the fire, the falling rubble. Thank goodness for Clemson, whose Pyre magic had saved her life. No paper spell could have rescued her from being crushed. But she hadn’t included the falling rubble in her police report. Emery had been listening, and she hadn’t wanted to distress him. He had been so . . . quiet. Worried about her. Ceony had been too shaken to relish the way he’d held her, but . . .

Ceony sat up and straightened the bodice of her nightgown, then moved to her desk, which sat on the opposite side of the small bedroom. In the back of the second drawer rested the fortuity box that had offered her such pleasant promises for the future. She held it for a long moment before returning it to its hiding spot. It was bad luck to read one’s own fortune, and Ceony had experienced her fill of bad luck for the week.

Fennel coughed a faint bark and wagged his tail. Moments later, Ceony detected the smell of bacon wafting under her door. Had Emery decided to cook breakfast?

She glanced at her clock—ten past nine. She had slept in late today.

Quickly changing into a blouse, skirt, and a pair of stockings, Ceony went to the bathroom to brush her teeth, braid her hair, and apply her makeup. She hurried down the steep stairs that opened onto the dining room, where Emery had already loaded two plates with bacon and eggs.

“You didn’t have to do this. I was up,” Ceony said, though it impressed her that the bacon wasn’t burned and the eggs looked perfectly sunny. Ever since being fed tuna and rice on her first day as an apprentice, Ceony had insisted on cooking every meal. After all, if not for Emery’s scholarship, she would have enrolled in culinary school.

“I am capable of cooking,” Emery said, pulling out a chair for her, “else I would have starved long ago.”

Ceony smiled and settled into the seat while Emery retrieved silverware. Perhaps he had needed to cook while married to Lira. The Excisioner didn’t seem like she’d be much of a cook, though Ceony wouldn’t dream of asking him about it. If any topic made Emery uncomfortable, it was his ex-wife.

Ceony wondered if Lira was still as she’d left her—frozen and bleeding on the rocky beach of Foulness Island—but then Emery sat down beside her, and the memories flitted away.

He handed her a telegram.

“What’s this?” she asked, unfolding it.


lets not change plans stop albans at noon stop

“It came this morning,” Emery said between bites. He frowned at his eggs and reached for the pepper shaker. “I believe it’s from Delilah, unless you’ve taken to arranging social visits with Patrice Aviosky.”

His eyes shined as he chuckled at his own joke.

“I would like to meet her for lunch,” Ceony said, “unless you need me here.”

Emery thought for a moment, chewing, and left the table without excuse. He returned with a 9" by 14" sheet of paper, which he tore in half.

“Mimic,” he told it—a spell unfamiliar to Ceony. He then haphazardly folded one half into quarters and handed it to Ceony.

“Anything you write on this will appear on my copy,” he explained in an unusually protective tone. “That way, if you need anything . . . Well, it’s self-explanatory.”

Ceony turned the spell over in her hands. “You’ve never sent me out with one of these before.”

“One can never be too irrational. Don’t be too long. There is plenty of homework to do!”

After breakfast, Ceony headed back to her room. As she packed her purse with the Mimic spell and some spare paper, she couldn’t help but feel uneasy about her situation. Three months ago, she had confessed her love for Emery while quite literally trapped in the fourth chamber of his heart. He still had not directly addressed her confession. He avoided uncomfortable subjects as a general rule, so perhaps the confession had made him uncomfortable. Ceony’s cheeks burned at the thought; when she’d said the words, she hadn’t believed he would remember them upon waking. And Ceony still couldn’t forget Lira’s cruel laughter. “He doesn’t love you,” she’d said.

Her gaze drifted again to the second drawer in her desk. What if the fortuity box had only shown her what she wanted to see, and not the truth? What if she had already done something to upset that possibility of future events, leaving her longing for something that was no longer an option?

She sighed. She had only been in one previous relationship, in secondary school, and that had been much easier than this. Perhaps she should take that as a sign and give up.

Yet she couldn’t give up on Emery. She knew that more surely than anything.