The Master Magician

Ceony handed half of the paper to her. “Think of it as mirror-to-mirror communication,” Ceony explained. Indeed, a mirror spell would be much more prudent than this Folder’s spell, but Mg. Aviosky didn’t know about Ceony’s exercises in bond breaking, and Ceony was not ready to share the information. Once a secret spread to too many minds and mouths, anyone could learn it—including an Excisioner.

Ceony continued. “Anything you write on your half will appear on mine. Please, if you hear any more news, or if you need to contact me for whatever reason, use this. It’s quicker and more . . . private . . . than a telegram.”

The glass magician glanced over the half sheet of paper. To Ceony’s relief, she nodded and folded it into quarters before slipping it inside her tailored jacket. “Very well,” she said. “I’ll keep it on hand.”

Ceony’s shoulders relaxed, which was how she realized they had tensed. “Thank you for your help. I’m just trying to . . . ease some concerns.”

Gosport, she thought. Haslar to Portsmouth. I need to know for certain that he fled, that he won’t come after us. I have to know there won’t be any more Delilahs, Anises.

Ceony stood, holding her bag to her. Mg. Aviosky stood as well.

“Would you like some tea?” she asked, lips twisting with what could have been worry. “Do you have a buggy waiting?”

“No, thank you, and I’ll get home fine,” Ceony said, punctuating her reassurances with a smile. “And I should be getting home. I have more studying to do before my test.”

Mg. Aviosky seemed pleased with that statement. “Agreed. Take care, Ceony.”

The Gaffer showed Ceony to the door. Ceony took up her bike and walked it across the yard and down the walk, watching Mg. Aviosky’s front door through the corner of her eye.

She turned the next corner and seated herself on the bike. She rode farther into the city, toward Parliament Square, where she heard Big Ben chime the second hour.

This time she didn’t cut through the square to return to Emery’s cottage. She parked her bicycle outside St. Alban’s Salmon Bistro, which was, ironically, the place where she had lost the last one.

Smoothing her skirt and fixing her hair, Ceony began to walk toward the Parliament building itself. It was more public than she would have liked given her purpose, but she knew the mirror was of good quality, ensuring a certain measure of safety. Besides, there wasn’t time to find anything better. The lavatory door locked, at least.

As she neared the building, a familiar laugh caught her attention. Passing Fine Seams, a tailoring shop, Ceony peered around a corner and searched the various shoppers and pedestrians filling the narrow road leading away from the square. She spied her sister Zina leaning against the brick side of Fine Seams in a dress that was almost indecently short. She was with two men: one who was barely old enough to be called a man and another who looked to be Zina’s age. He held a cigar in one hand and leaned one elbow against the brick wall.

“Zina!” Ceony called, jogging down the street. A surprise to see her sister here—her family had moved to Poplar, which was too far away for a comfortable journey to Parliament Square.

Zina glanced over. She didn’t seem enthused by the chance meeting, which made Ceony slow down.

Ceony nodded to the two men before asking, “What are you doing here? Mom and Dad . . . are they here, too?” Prancing around the heart of London, just waiting for a certain Excisioner to put them on the menu?

Zina rolled her eyes. “I’m nineteen, Ceony. I don’t need an escort.”

“I didn’t say you did. I was just wondering—”

“Can you ‘wonder’ over there?” Zina asked, gesturing down the road. “I’m a bit preoccupied.”

Ceony glanced to the older man. “Excuse me, just a moment,” she said. He did not so much as step back. To Zina, she said, “What’s wrong? Why are you acting like this? I haven’t seen you in two months and suddenly I’m a pest?”

Zina buzzed her lips to imitate a fly. The two men chuckled.

Ceony swallowed a grumble and straightened her shoulders. Leaning toward Zina, she said, “Listen, you should probably go home. There are . . . things afoot right now, and I’m worried about the family. Would you—”

“Ceony!” Zina snapped, “Are you deaf? You, of all people, have no right to tell me about propriety.”

A few passersby glanced over at Zina’s outburst.

“I’m not talking about propriety! I’m talking about your safety!” Ceony countered. Her mother had mentioned Zina’s new habits—the late nights and unruly friends—but had her sister really grown so hard?

Zina pushed off of the brick wall and straightened, standing about an inch taller than Ceony did. “I know about you and Magician Thane, you know,” she said, a little too loudly for comfort.

Ceony flushed. “What about me and Magician Thane?”

“I heard our parents talking, that’s what,” she said. “Criminy, Ceony, it’s like shagging the principal. Isn’t he a divorcé, too?”

Scalding heat permeated Ceony’s skin, reddening her like a tomato. Voices muttering What did she say? and That girl? echoed around her. She could feel time slowing, and the passersby slowed along with it, clearly eager to overhear more gossip.