The Glass Magician

She made four of them and hurried back to the vanity room.

Emery stood rigid, watching the shards. Ceony dropped down beside him and began to pick them up and shove them into the boxes. Emery crouched and helped her. One of the shards left a thin cut across her thumb, but she ignored it. Once they’d collected all the pieces, they shut the boxes’ lids and left them sitting on the carpet.

“Seven years,” Ceony said, catching her breath. “That’s seven years’ bad luck, you know.”

Emery sniffed. “I think Lady Luck will grant you a pardon in this case.”

“How much did you hear?”

“Enough,” he said. He coughed softly and said, “Grath Cobalt . . . a Gaffer. A few things make sense now. Strange. Hughes will want to know.” His voice sounded hoarse.

“Will he find us?” Ceony asked, staring at the boxes. Her fingers danced around their corners, checking her Folds for accuracy.

“No,” Emery said, and he coughed. “He shouldn’t know where we are, physically, if I understand mirror-hopping correctly. At least, I hope that’s the case.”

Ceony looked directly at the paper magician, finally noticing the redness of his eyes and puffiness around his jaw. He sniffed again, and barely any air made it through his sinuses.

“Goodness, Emery!” she exclaimed, standing. “What happened to you?”

Emery cleared his throat, but the action resulted in a fit of low coughs. Once he recovered, he grumbled, “Mrs. Hughes is a great lover of cats; unfortunately, this was unclear to me until I had already been exposed.”

He coughed again and covered his mouth, which is when Ceony noticed the hives on his hand.

Ceony’s own hand flew to her chest. “Magician Aviosky wasn’t joking when she said you had allergies. Oh, Emery, you look awful.”

“Thank you,” he wheezed.

Clucking her tongue, Ceony took him by the sleeve and led him into the living room, where she half-shoved him onto the sofa and ordered him to lie down. He looked even worse in the better lighting; a few pink hives dotted his neck, and angry red zigzags marred the whites of his eyes.

“We have,” he coughed, “a more important matter to deal with, Ceony.”

Unfurling the folded blanket, Ceony said, “And I will deal with it. I can send a bird, and there’s a telegraph downstairs. Grath isn’t going anywhere, and neither are you. My brother is allergic to alfalfa, and whenever he gets sick we have to treat it like a cold. He doesn’t get as sick as you are, though.”

Emery responded with a heavy cough.

Frowning, Ceony let the blanket fall over him and ordered him to remove his coat, which was doubtlessly covered in cat hair, then hurried into the kitchen to fill two glasses with water. She pulled the desk chair over to the couch and set the glasses on top of it.

“Drink both of these. It will help flush you out,” she instructed.

“I’m perfectly capable—” Emery began, but a wet and unpleasant cough cut off his words. Giving up, he reached for the first glass and downed it in five gulps.

Ceony returned to the kitchen and heated the stove to boil water—she didn’t have a chicken, but she could make him some vegetable broth, which had never hurt anyone. She glanced back into the living room, where Emery was gulping down his second glass of water. His neck looked even more swollen.

Ceony felt her blood drain to her feet. “Do I need to call an ambulance?” she asked. “Have you had to go to the hospital before?”

Emery shook his head. “Only as a,” he coughed, sniffed, “child. This will pass.”

Ceony chewed on her lip and stepped back into the kitchen. After searching all the drawers, most of which were empty, she found a thin dish towel and soaked it in cool water. Returning to the living room, she used couch cushions to prop up Emery’s head and wrapped the cool cloth just below his jaw, hoping it would alleviate the swelling. She then went to work at the desk, Folding and cutting snowflakes—a lesson she had learned in her first week as an apprentice.

The word “snow” enchanted them, but she gave them no direction for a falling pattern. Instead, she tucked them under the wet towel to keep it cool, then began braiding two paper bandages—the only solution she could think of for the hives.