The Glass Magician

“Don’t break it, or I won’t be able to pull you back,” Delilah said. “I had to transport it here late last night after Magician Aviosky went to bed. I thought for sure one of the guards would catch me. Turn it around.”


Ceony turned the mirror toward Delilah, who traced it with her finger and synced it with the lavatory mirror. Ceony would take the glider from Emery’s cottage to the rendezvous point—she would be a little late—and warp back to Parliament through the oval mirror in her hands. A quick escape, should things get nasty. If all went as planned, she’d have Grath incapacitated and a dozen paper birds flying to alert local police.

Delilah re-enchanted the lavatory mirror, pulling up the image of the cottage’s lavatory. She then kissed both of Ceony’s cheeks.

“Be quick, and be careful,” she whispered. “I swear I’ll break my promise and get the magicians involved if you’re not back in an hour.”

“Give me two,” Ceony said. “Just to be safe.”

“One and a half, tops,” Delilah countered. She took a deep breath. “Go, you stupid girl. And don’t get yourself killed!”

Still gripping the oval mirror, Ceony climbed onto the dresser and stepped into the cottage bathroom—a bit of a squeeze, given the height of the bathroom mirror. She stepped down onto the porcelain sink, then leapt to the tiled floor. With everything she needed already prepared and in her bag, she darted from the bathroom, down the hall, and up the stairs to the third floor, where Emery’s “big” spells lay, including the glider, a giant paper bird, and some other strange contraption he hadn’t yet finished, which she only knew from snooping. No other furniture save for a stool occupied the large, bare-walled space, which was in need of a good sweeping.

After securing a shield chain around her torso, Ceony stood on the glider and pulled the cord that opened the door in the cottage’s roof, receiving an angry cry from a raven in the process. Then, situating herself on the glider and gripping its handholds, she said, “Breathe.”

The contraption bucked like a wild horse beneath her. Ceony jerked back on the handles, and the glider soared upward through the roof nose first, nearly tossing Ceony from its back. Only after Ceony had straightened it out in the sky, pointing it south, did she realize she would have to return to the cottage to shut the door in the roof. She could only hope it wouldn’t rain before then.

Ceony soared toward London far faster than any buggy could take her, freed from the limitations of roads and rivers, and she stayed as far as she could from the rivers. It all looked like one of the elaborate train sets toy stores sold at Christmastime, but with fewer hills and a duller track. She glided westward, preferring to circumvent the city instead of fly directly over it, for she wanted as few witnesses as possible. Wind thrashed her hair, lashing her braid about like a whip. Ceony pressed herself against the glider, urging it to go faster. She only had so much time before Delilah’s resolve broke, and she feared it would be less than the agreed-upon hour and a half. She held her breath when she flew over the gray-cast River Thames, but it couldn’t be avoided.

Adrenaline didn’t start streaming into her blood until she passed London and started searching the ground for Hangman’s Road. Her decision suddenly felt very real to her, and her heart beat even louder than the wind rushing by her ears. Her hands began to sweat on the handles of the glider, which she squeezed until her knuckles paled.

Slowing down, Ceony pointed the glider closer to the earth. She veered west, following the line of shallow, green-spotted hills marking a long stretch of abandoned farmland. In the shadows of those hills she spied a rust-colored barn, large enough to house several animals. A spattering of weatherworn holes marked the west side of its seal-colored roof, and one of its white-streaked front doors rested crookedly on its hinges. A collapsed cowshed lay just a few yards to its right.

Coaxing the glider up, she circled the house and hills, searching for anything out of the ordinary, anything to indicate Grath had laid a trap for her. She saw nothing.

“Land gently, please,” she begged the glider. She guided it east of the barn. The glider circled three and a half times before skidding on its belly across the long grass.

Ceony flexed her sore hands and slid off the glider, glancing warily at the barn. No sign of Grath. Not yet, anyway.

Reaching into her bag, she unfurled her paper doll. “Stand,” she ordered.

The paper doll stiffened and stood. Aligning herself with it, Ceony said, “Copy.”

The doll colored itself to match her, wind-mussed hair and all. Ceony didn’t bother to smooth it down.