The Glass Magician

She had learned how to make the bandages during the second month of her apprenticeship after accidentally walking in on Emery in the privy while he was trimming his hair over the sink. Her embarrassment at seeing the privy occupied, as well as seeing Emery shirtless, had startled her so greatly that she hadn’t taken the time to remove her fingers from the doorframe before slamming the door closed, all while shouting a profuse apology. She had nearly broken her right middle finger in the process, and Emery had crafted one of these bandages to hasten its healing.

She finished crafting the bandages and wrapped one around each of Emery’s hands, braiding the ends so they fit snugly. She then hurried down the switchback stairs rather than waiting for the lift, Emery’s protests bouncing off her back as she went. When she reached the long, olive-and-tan-tiled lobby, she hurried past a clay urn and a tall mirror to reach the receptionist’s desk. Ceony asked to use the telegraph and, after checking to ensure the woman was looking away, telegraphed Mg. Aviosky. She didn’t know how to reach Mg. Hughes.


grath contacted through mirror stop he is a gaffer stop alert hughes and contact us stop

That message would raise more questions than it would answer, but Ceony imagined Mg. Aviosky would arrive at the apartment by nightfall. Ceony could explain the situation more fully in person.

After taking the lift back upstairs, Ceony busied herself with preparations for the broth. It took about an hour, and for at least half that time Emery coughed and sniffled. His feline-induced ailment had settled down somewhat by the time Ceony brought the steaming bowl of soup to his bedside.

She set it on the chair and sat on the edge of the lavender couch, pressing a hand to Emery’s forehead.

“At least you don’t have a fever,” she said. “Well, I don’t think you do. I’d rather not test you the way my mother taught me.”

Emery laughed, some mirth shining through his red-veined eyes.

“You didn’t pet the cats, did you?” she asked.

Emery cleared his throat, twice. “Heavens no. I only spied one of them on my way out. By then I knew I was a dead man. I thought I had come down with a cold, at first.”

“How many does she own?”

“Four.”

“I think that’s two cats too many for anyone,” Ceony said. She sighed, then gestured to the bowl. “Drink this when you’re ready, but don’t wait too long. And I’ll get you more water.”

She refilled the glasses in the kitchen and set them beside the broth.

Emery watched her as she reclaimed her seat on the edge of the couch, by his hip. After a moment, he asked, “Why do you do all of this for me, Ceony?”

A flush crept into her ears. She leaned away and stirred the broth. “Don’t ask me that,” she replied, quiet. She watched little bits of carrot and potato churn in the soup. She took a deep breath, then another, waiting for the flush to recede. When she was confident that it had, she said, “You know why.”

“Ceony . . .” Emery’s voice trailed off, but he didn’t complete the thought, if he had intended to say anything more than her name to begin with. Ceony continued to stir the broth, which gave her something to focus on other than him.

A full minute passed before Emery spoke again.

He began with a sigh. “You’re my apprentice. I don’t . . . don’t think I need to remind you of that.”

“There’s no documented rule against it,” Ceony countered. The flush began to creep across her skin again, betraying her. “I checked.”

Emery rubbed under the wet cloth around his neck. He hesitated, perhaps concerned about choosing the right words. “Not all rules are written.”

“And you’re not one to follow rules.”

Ceony’s boldness surprised even her, and she dared not even glance at the paper magician to gauge his reaction. The air thickened and swirled around her like the vegetable broth, but instead of cooling, it seemed to grow ever hotter.

I’m his apprentice, she thought. As if he needed to remind her! And how could he possibly ask her why she did any of the things she did? She had confessed her feelings to him in the fourth chamber of his heart, after all.

She closed her eyes and pressed the back of her hand to her cheeks, willing them cool. Fine, she thought, letting the broth settle. If he wants just an apprentice, I’ll be just an apprentice.

Perhaps it had been foolish of her to expect anything more.

She handed him the bowl. “I’ve only done three links for that shrinking chain,” she said. “When you’re feeling well, I’d like you to inspect them. I’d rather not spend time constructing a flawed chain. And I have some reading to do. I’ll come check on you in an hour.”

Ceony stood and brushed off her skirt, then calmly fled to her room to read her book on origami behind a closed door, where no one but her would see that awful, vibrant pink that tainted her skin.

And, for the third time that week, she did an excellent job of staying calm. By the time she finished her textbook, only two tears stained its pages.





CHAPTER 8