The Master Magician

Glad that her self-made wind cooled her from the warming sun, Ceony rode her bicycle down Grange Road and through Lambeth. The loud, low whistle of a departing train from the Central London Railway echoed through the city, though the tracks didn’t cross through this part of London.

Ceony slowed as she rounded a corner, passing quaint houses until she reached a sizeable house painted a deep sage green, though the heavy stonework across its face almost hid the color entirely. It had a small yard and a short wrought-iron fence, every other picket topped with enchanted Gaffer’s bulbs that would light up once the sun went down. A security measure, Ceony imagined. Mg. Aviosky had never particularly cared for aesthetics.

Ceony dismounted her bike and combed her fingers through her hair before re-pinning it into its French twist. Mg. Aviosky had resided in this home for nearly two years, having moved after Delilah’s passing. The Gaffer must have suffered from her own bad memories, though she never spoke of them to Ceony.

She approached the front door, knocked, and for a moment she stood on the porch of another house, knocking on a door that no one answered because Grath had already tied them up in the attic . . .

Shaking her head, Ceony squeezed her eyes shut and tried to banish the memories from her mind.

If you had gotten here sooner, she’d still be alive, her own voice whispered from the black caves somewhere at the back of her skull. It had become an all-too-familiar refrain.

She rubbed her temples. I’m always too late, aren’t I? she thought, her bones growing heavy. Had she made it but half an hour sooner to her dear friend Anise’s home years ago, Ceony could have stopped the other girl from killing herself. Had she arrived at Mg. Aviosky’s home in better time, she could have stopped Grath from murdering Delilah.

“Stop it,” she whispered to herself. She rapped on the door, the sound of knuckles on wood shattering her redundant thoughts. Only then did she realize Mg. Aviosky might not be home, especially given the business of her career. Ceony frowned. As far as she knew, the Gaffer no longer kept an apprentice. She couldn’t bring herself to, not after what happened to Delilah.

“At least I got exercise,” Ceony murmured to herself. She knocked again for good measure, then rang the bell.

To her relief, she heard soft footsteps approach the door from inside. They paused for several seconds before the door opened.

“Miss Twill,” Mg. Aviosky said, standing in the door frame and not sounding the least bit surprised. She must have spied Ceony with some spell or another. “I certainly didn’t expect your company today.”

“I suppose I should have telegraphed, or sent a bird,” Ceony replied, clasping her hands behind her back. “I do hope you have a few moments to spare? I need to discuss some important . . . and private . . . matters with you.”

Mg. Aviosky’s thin lips frowned as they were wont to do, but the gesture lasted only a moment. She adjusted her glasses on her nose—a new pair, silver, and enchanted, judging by the faint etch marks on the upper-right-hand corners of each lens. If Ceony recalled correctly from her ancillary Gaffer studies, that enchantment could make the lenses magnify something to a near-microscopic level. “Of course,” she said, stepping aside. “Come in.”

Ceony stepped in and removed her shoes. Mg. Aviosky closed the door and gestured to the front room.

“Are you here because you’re concerned about your test?” Mg. Aviosky asked, smoothing her skirt and sitting on a lavender chair near the fireplace. “You’re not required to try for your magicianship after two years, Miss Twill. Or are you troubled that Magician Thane won’t be the one testing you?”

Ceony blinked, sliding down onto the edge of the sofa patterned with large prints of maroon and navy lilies. “You know about that?”

“It’s my business to know,” Mg. Aviosky said, pointing her nose slightly closer to the ceiling. She relaxed her shoulders. “But truthfully, I feel an obligation to follow up with charges of mine from Tagis Praff, at least until they’re settled into their careers.”

Ceony nodded, then smiled. “I didn’t take you for the sentimental type.”

Mg. Aviosky raised an eyebrow.

“But no,” she continued, clasping her hands over her knees. “I’m not here about my test. Or to speak about my studies at all. I came to you because of a telegram Em—Magician Thane received last night.”

Stiffness seeped back into the glass magician’s shoulders. “From Magician Hughes,” she said. It didn’t sound like a question, but Ceony nodded regardless. Mg. Aviosky must have received word of Saraj as well.

Releasing a sigh, Mg. Aviosky leaned back in her chair and pressed an index finger to her forehead, just above the nose guard of her glasses. “That man cannot keep his wits all in one jar,” she said. “He might as well initiate Magician Thane into the Criminal Affairs department officially.”