The Glass Magician

After a moment, Emery passed through the spell and stood out with her, his coat tossed over his shoulder from the heat. He tapped two fingers on his chin and frowned, more in his eyes than in his mouth, which worried Ceony. He said nothing, but it was clear he wasn’t satisfied.

Ceony made his second-favorite meal, shepherd’s pie, for dinner—his first favorite required halibut, of which they had none—and even prepared a gooseberry cobbler for dessert. Emery thanked her, and his words were sincere, but she could tell his mind lingered elsewhere. Wherever the paper magician went on days like this, Ceony knew she couldn’t follow.

His thoughts still drifted the following day, so Ceony let him be and worked on her studies, reading The Art of Eastern Origami and working on her paper doll. It wasn’t until evening that Emery’s mind stopped its wandering, and he announced, just as Ceony pulled a salad bowl for dinner from the cupboard, that they were leaving the cottage.

“Leaving?” Ceony asked, nearly dropping the bowl. “Why?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Emery asked. But it wasn’t. His tone concealed his thoughts and his gaze was once again impenetrable. “Grath is here, and if you’re his target—which seems to be the case—he’s not leaving anytime soon. I spent years hunting this man, Ceony. Even when he knew we were closing in on him, he never took the easy way out. He always . . . finished his business first.”

His voice drooped at the end of the sentence.

Ceony clasped her hands to her chest and whispered, “Was he at the warehouse?”

She thought of the rotting bodies harvested for their blood and organs. Had Grath’s hands torn those people apart?

Her mind tried to bring up the crisp images of the bodies left rotting there, but Ceony squeezed her eyes shut and pushed them away. She returned the bowl to its cupboard, having lost her appetite.

“Him, among others,” Emery said, perhaps more solemn than she had ever heard him. It made her heart break in two. She took a step toward him, but stopped herself. Perhaps, in this instance, it would be better not to overstep the bounds of an apprentice.

“It’s safer this way,” Emery said, meeting her eyes. “I’m easy to find, even with the wards. Unfortunately, the Cabinet requires open knowledge of all magician residences, which makes it incredibly hard for a man to be a recluse when he wants to be, and I don’t trust the Cabinet’s internal security. We’ll head for the city. Easy to get lost there.”

“But you hate the city.”

Emery sighed. “But I hate the city. I’ll telegram for a buggy. You should pack. Lightly. I don’t know how long we’ll be gone, but we should stay mobile.”

“I’m sorry about all of this—”

“We should invest in one of those telephones,” Emery said over her, flipping on his selective listening like a light switch. He hummed to himself and left the room.

Upstairs, Ceony pulled her suitcase out from under her bed, but determined it was too large to carry with her should she need to leave anywhere in a hurry. Instead she opened it and pulled out the cloth bag she had taken with her when she fell into Emery’s heart. It had required a great deal of scrubbing and mending, and two patches, but she couldn’t bring herself to replace it. It felt too sentimental to toss away.

She folded one change of clothes—she could wash what she was wearing if need be—and set them in the base of the bag, followed by her makeup kit and hygiene products, and her book on origami, spare paper protected under its back cover. Fennel began sniffing about the bag, which he seemed to recognize from their adventure. Ceony picked him up and hugged him as tightly as one could hug a dog made of paper.

“If you want to come with me, I’ll need you to fold up like before, boy. Just for a little while.”

Fennel wagged his tail and huffed.

“Fold up.”

Fennel licked her with his dry paper tongue, then stuck his head down and his back legs forward so Ceony could fold him into a somewhat flat, lopsided pentagon. She slid him carefully into the bag, making sure to secure him, and lifted the strap onto her shoulder.

She took one last view of her room, frowned, and headed downstairs.

Whatever happened, at least Emery would be with her.

When the buggy arrived at a quarter to nine, the last tendrils of the fading summer sun highlighted the clouds to the west. Emery had haphazardly packed a laundry bag half full, which he threw onto the far seat in the back of the buggy’s cab. The seats must have been recently upholstered, for they smelled like new leather. Emery offered Ceony a hand into the buggy, and then climbed up after her.

“To Burleigh Road, if you would,” Emery called to the driver. To Ceony, he said, “Stayed in a hotel there once. Decent place.”

Ceony managed a smile. The buggy turned on its lights and circled around, plodding down the long road into London. Cooling summer air swept through the glassless windows and teased Emery’s wavy hair. Shadowy trees whisked past them, thankfully shielding the river from view.