The Glass Magician

Shutting her eyes, Ceony let her mind drift until it settled on a memory six weeks after her trip into the paper magician’s heart. An especially hot Wednesday afternoon. It was the first moment she had thought, Maybe this will work. Maybe I’m someone worth falling for.

She had taken it upon herself to start a small vegetable garden in the narrow backyard of the cottage, where the soil wasn’t covered in paper plants. She crouched over the small lot she had prepared, dark topsoil spread out before her and staining her gloves, the sun casting patterns over her skirt as it shined through the wicker brim of her hat. She picked herself off the ground after planting the last seeds—radishes—and bent backward so that her sore back cracked in four places.

Emery appeared beside her. “Congratulations, Ceony, you’ve successfully made a very large stretch of dirt.”

“You’ll thank me in a month or so,” she countered, pulling off her gloves. “And next year you’ll be begging me to make it even bigger.”

Emery smiled, then reached forward and ran his thumb over Ceony’s cheek, brushing off some of the dirt there. Ceony, of course, had humiliated herself by flushing redder than the tomatoes that would soon be growing at her feet.

But he hadn’t moved his hand, not right away. He hesitated, looking at her, those beautiful emerald eyes burning holes through her skin.

“Wh-What?” Ceony stuttered.

He smiled and dropped his hand. “Oh, nothing. I was just thinking about how much I like your name.”

Ceony opened her eyes, bringing herself back to the present. She sat up, her gaze meeting the empty eyes of her paper doll. “Cease,” she said, and the paper collapsed to the floor, losing its color in the process.

Then Ceony slid off the mattress and knelt on the floor, reaching under her bed. She hadn’t been able to take much from the cottage—she would have to explain all of it, if Emery ever discovered her cache—but her fingers wrapped around a corded paper stem, and she pulled out one of the red roses Emery had crafted for her birthday, its red paper petals still perfectly crisp.

She fingered the flower’s lifelike bud.

I can wait two years, she thought, turning the rose in her hand. I can wait two years for him, longer if need be. If he would ever love me, I’d wait my entire life.

But even two years felt like an eternity. What if Emery found someone else? Ceony could only pray they returned to the cottage soon so that the paper magician could go back to being a recluse and not meet anyone new.

She sighed and returned the rose to its hiding place. How much time she had wasted moping around like a lovesick schoolgirl!

She gathered her paper doll and stashed it away, then returned to her work. Setting the half-formed paper bird aside, she began Folding a series of small Burst spells. She could not spend more time mooning over Emery. He could wait. He had to wait.

For now, Ceony had to prepare. It was up to her to control the Excisioners. It was up to her to protect him, and herself.

She stayed up late Folding her spells and carefully arranging them in her bag—the same bag she had armed herself with when she faced Lira on Foulness Island.

Before she went to bed, she loaded her Tatham percussion-lock pistol and added its weight to her bounty of spells.

One didn’t always need magic to win a fight.





CHAPTER 12



WHEN SHE AND EMERY arrived at the Parliament building the next day, Ceony protested less vehemently when she was told to sit outside the conference room and wait with Delilah.

“It won’t be as long this time,” Emery whispered as the others associated with Criminal Affairs filtered into the double-door conference room. His breath against her neck gave her shivers, but she hid them well enough. “For the love of all gods, I hope it’s not as long as last time.”

He sighed and turned to the conference room, where Mg. Aviosky lingered outside the doors with a frown. This time, however, the expression was directed at Emery. Ceony wondered at that.

The doors closed, and Delilah and Ceony took their seats.

Ceony waited as long as she could stand it—about five minutes—before turning to Delilah. “Let’s go. Hurry!”

They scrambled from the foyer to the women’s lavatory, passing tired-looking guards. Ceony checked the stalls to ensure the room’s vacancy, then secured the deadbolt on the door.

“Did you bring it?” Ceony asked Delilah.

Delilah, who had begun wringing a handkerchief in her small hands, nodded and hurried to the dresser. From behind it, she pulled out a medium-sized frameless oval mirror with only a thin plastic backing. The mirror shined brightly in the light from the chandelier, free of any cracks or tarnishing. Gaffer’s glass. It looked barely large enough for Ceony to fit through—just a few inches wider than her shoulders and hips.

Ceony held it carefully in her arms.