The Glass Magician

She followed the road.

The gray sky brightened as she walked, yet the sun refused to break its cloud cover. It rained long enough to make Ceony’s clothes feel uncomfortable, then stopped, leaving the world awfully cold for late summer. She unbraided her hair and combed her fingers through it, rebraided it. Checked the mirror. Glanced over her shoulder.

After some time, perhaps two hours, she heard the rattling of carriage wheels on the dirt road ahead of her. A stout, unpainted carriage pulled by two spotted horses came into view. Relieved, Ceony ran toward it, waving her arms to stop the driver, but he ignored her and continued on, quickening the horses’ trot as he passed. The carriage windows had their shutters drawn.

Ceony paused in the road, staring after them. A young woman in distress, and they hadn’t even slowed? Curse the French! Who did they think she was, and what errand could they possibly have in the middle of nowhere that they couldn’t so much as stop to give her directions?

Shoulders slumping, Ceony turned back to the road. She didn’t need directions, and wouldn’t understand them anyhow. She had only two options: go forward, or return to the shed.

Ceony moved forward at a quicker clip, rubbing a hunger cramp from her stomach as she went. The carriage must have come from somewhere, and the horses didn’t look too exhausted. Only a few more hours, she thought, hopeful.

The trees thinned even more, and the rain picked up again, sprinkling on and off, defying the warmth of the hidden sun. Ceony rubbed a chill from her fingers as she walked, searching for any hint of life. She spied a wild rabbit and for a moment wished she knew how to hunt the animal, not just how to cook it.

She tried holding her mouth open to the rain for a drink, but the droplets were so fine and temperamental that it did nothing to quench her thirst. She continued walking, her muscles sore, clutching the mirror in her hands. Find me Delilah, Magician Aviosky. Find me before Grath does.

She tried not to think of her family, but walking in silence down the never-ending road, the feat proved difficult. She imagined Marshall on the floor in the storage room of the meatpacking warehouse, imagined Zina hanging by one of the hooks, Emery and the constable standing over them. Only this time, all the blame lay on Ceony’s shoulders.

Shaking the thoughts away, Ceony peered behind her, thinking for a moment that she heard heavy footsteps, or saw a flash of ginger hair, paler than her own. But no—she was alone. She didn’t feel that same uneasy, hair-raising feeling that came upon her whenever Saraj was close.

More time passed and she found another sign, this one reading, “Zuydcoote un kilometre au sud-est.” She imagined “kilometre” meant kilometer, but she couldn’t piece together the rest. Still, a sign meant civilization had to be nearby. She hoped.

She picked up her pace, her stomach growling audibly now, and to her relief, she saw a cultivated hill covered in trimmed crabgrass and a small redbrick house atop it, off the road a ways. Finding a new ball of energy inside her, Ceony ran across the road and up the hill, not bothering to look for a pathway. She reached the narrow porch, breathless, and knocked on the door that bore a faded sign reading “Claes.”

She heard creaking footsteps beyond the door, and then a balding man who looked to be in his late forties answered the door.

“Hello, I’m so sorry,” Ceony blurted, “but I’m lost and I need help. Do you have a telegraph?”

The man crossed his brows. “Et, qui êtes-vous? Je ne parle pas l’anglais.”

Oh, how she wished Delilah were here to translate! Ceony’s grip tightened on the mirror, but with her free hand she pointed to herself and said, “Ceony. Lost. From England.”

She pointed in what she assumed was the direction of England. Then an idea struck her.

She tucked the mirror shard into her waistband and pretended to write on her hand. “Paper?” she asked. “Uh . . . papel? Papier? See-voo play?”

She thought that sounded French.

He paused, then nodded and opened the door, motioning with one hand for Ceony to enter. A slightly older man who resembled the first sat on a short, apricot-colored couch with a newspaper on his lap. He eyed Ceony with curiosity.

The first man moved to a desk in the corner of the room and pulled out a small pad of paper and a pencil. “Papier?” he asked, holding out the supplies.