The Glass Magician

“A required class?” Ceony asked. The workload at Tagis Praff had been nearly suffocating during her year there. Surely they wouldn’t add more to the curriculum!

“Well,” Langston began, playing with the corner of his newspaper, “I think it would do better as an extracurricular course without a grading system—something for interested students to enroll in, should they choose. But Professor Mueller thinks they won’t attend unless it’s a required class, or for extra credit.”

“And you would teach it?”

“Supposedly,” Langston said. “Or perhaps we could make it an assembly of sorts, a career day, maybe. I’d only be showing basic craft, something to spike interest—animation, fortune charms, starlights, those sorts of things.”

Ceony released her skirt. “Starlights?”

“You don’t know them?” Langston asked. “Well, they’re small, almost plush-looking stars that light up. Quite nice for birthday parties or power outages. We get those a lot in the city.”

Ceony grinned. Margo would love something like that! “Could you show me, please?”

“Uh . . . well, certainly. I could use the practice.”

He looked at his newspaper for a moment, considering it, but ultimately stood from the table and moved to the desk in the living room, which held several stacks of paper. He selected some rectangular sheets in yellow and pink and a pair of scissors, and returned to the table.

“Well, you cut a strip,” he said, slicing off the long side of a yellow piece of paper.

“Does the size matter?”

“Uh . . . no, I don’t think so,” he said, finishing his strip. “And then you make a dog-ear Fold . . . Do you know a dog-ear Fold yet?”

“Just make them,” Ceony said, “and I’ll watch.”

Langston nodded, seeming relieved, and proceeded to Fold the star, his stubby fingers creasing the Folds well. He Folded part of the strip into a sort of knot, but didn’t give the Folds a hard crease. He formed a small pentagon, wrapping the remaining paper around it like a bandage and tucking in the end to leave the shape clean. He then, carefully, and with his smallest fingers, pressed in each side of the pentagon until it formed a star.

He held the starlight in his hand and said, “Glow.”

As though he had lit a match within the paper, the star began to softly glow from within. Ceony had to cup her hands around it to see, what with the bright morning light, but the soft light of the star remained steady until Langston said, “Cease.”

“Charming,” Ceony said. “I’d like to try, if you don’t mind.”

Ceony cut a strip and copied Langston’s movements from memory, though she had to pause twice to ask questions about the steps Langston’s large hands had obscured during the Folding process. When she had finished, she held a small, softly gleaming pink star in her hands. So simple, yet beautiful.

“This would make a wonderful necklace, were it not so fragile,” she commented. She wondered if the starlight would still glow if she glossed it the way Emery had glossed her barrette.

Thoughts of Emery dulled her cheer, and she ordered the star, “Cease.”

Langston shifted in his chair.

“Do you have any firearms?” Ceony asked, setting the star down. In secondary school, when she had been upset over something, sometimes her father would take her into the countryside to shoot off his shotgun. The pull and thunder always helped empty her mind.

Langston paled. “I . . . well, I’m not supposed to let you out of the house, you see, and you can’t use one in here.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m not good with lessons—not yet anyway—but I have some books you could read. Perhaps you’ll discover something else Magician Thane hasn’t taught you.”

“Perhaps,” Ceony agreed, slouching in her chair. “I’ll browse for myself, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course.”

Pushing back from the table, Ceony collected the dishes, washed them in silence, and picked through books until she found not a textbook, but a copy of Jane Eyre. When Langston wasn’t looking, she snatched a sheet of paper and a pen from the top of his desk and retired to the guestroom upstairs.

Sitting on her bed and leaning against the novel, Ceony wrote on the paper, I need you to trust me and leave the house. Go anywhere, take a vacation. I’ll send you the money. Please hurry.

She reread her words and chewed on her bottom lip. For all she knew, Criminal Affairs had yet to take action, or they had decided to use her family as bait to draw out Grath and Saraj. The idea made her stomach churn.

It wouldn’t take long for the men to follow through on their threats. And for Saraj, all it would take was one touch.

She thought of the buggy driver and shivered. She slinked down to the floor and Folded the paper against it until she had formed a paper crane.

“Breathe,” she said.

The paper bird stretched out its wings and lifted its triangular head to her.

She recited her address to it.