The Master Magician

Then she spied what the bird must have seen amid a cluster of squat homes: an Indian man.

Not Saraj: that much was clear. He wore an eggshell-white turban on his head and loose clothing that wasn’t quite a robe. A thick beard hid half his face. He carried several planks of wood on his shoulder and waved ahead to an Indian woman who was about Ceony’s age. The woman glanced in Ceony’s direction, but her eyes didn’t linger.

The music grew louder, then fainter as Ceony passed more homes. There were Indians of all ages, children playing with stones on porches and old women with long gray braids. She spied into a larger home and saw an enormous table set with shallow metal dishes full of foods Ceony had never seen in any English cookbook. People on the walk called to one another in a language she presumed to be Hindi.

An Indian neighborhood, an enclave—that’s what the bird had found. She knew of a much larger Chinese settlement east of London. She had given her paper spell specific characteristics to find, and it had found them.

But Saraj wouldn’t be here, would he? Surely he didn’t have family in England . . . at least, not family who would harbor him. The police force would have investigated that route without delay, and besides, the enclave was too close to the location of Saraj’s escape for him to feel safe. At least, were Ceony in his position, she wouldn’t feel safe.

I’ll find you, Saraj, she thought, chewing her lip nearly hard enough to pierce it. And if you’re still in England, I’ll stop you. For them.

She made a mental note of the area but didn’t feel confident it carried any sort of useful clue. She certainly wouldn’t go barging into these strangers’ homes searching for an Excisioner!

She rubbed her thumb over the paper bird’s back.

“Miss?” the driver asked. They had reached the end of the road.

“Oh. Turn right, please,” Ceony said, relaxing into her seat. “Thank you, that was all. But if you could be so kind as to take me to a dressmaker’s shop in Waterlooville, I’ll make it worth your while.”

She’d have to pay him the rest of the money from the Holloway job, likely, but she was used to not having spending money. The cottage had everything she needed, besides.

The cottage. The clock was ticking.

“Push the speed limit, if you would,” she added. The driver peeked over his shoulder at her. Ceony offered a small smile.

She got to the dress shop just before it closed and set up a special order, though she snuck away to the back room while the clerk looked up the item number in a catalog. She transported back to Parliament through the mirror maze, only to find the door to the lavatory unlocked—someone had called in a locksmith, then. She could have transported clear to the lavatory mirror in Emery’s cottage were it not for the bike.

Hurrying out to her bike, Ceony pedaled back to the cottage on legs somewhat unwilling to put forth the effort.

The front door to the cottage was unlocked. She let herself in, taking a breath to call Emery’s name and see if he was home, but it caught in her throat as she stepped into the hallway.

Emery stood there with his arms folded tightly across his chest, his green eyes blazing with a fire that could only be meant for her.





CHAPTER 7




CEONY RUSHED THROUGH a mental checklist of her appearance: Her hair was a little windblown from the bike ride, her cheeks rosy, but when were they not rosy? Her blouse, dress, and shoes were acceptably clean. It wasn’t unusual for her to carry a purse, so that wouldn’t be a source of suspicion.

She glanced at her fingernails. Not too bad.

“Emery!” she said, missing only a heartbeat. She grinned. “I didn’t expect you home so soon.”

“I didn’t expect you home so late,” he countered, his eyes narrowing without losing any of their brilliance. “Did you take the scenic route from Patrice’s house?”

A flush inched up Ceony’s neck. “I did visit her today,” she said, adjusting her purse strap on her shoulder. She pressed her thumb into her collar as she did so, ensuring that it hid her new charm necklace. “How did you know? Did you run into her?” Ceony swallowed. “Did she . . . send you a telegram?”

Emery chuckled, but it wasn’t a happy laugh. “Oh no. Why use the telegraph when a certain nosy apprentice might be around to swipe the message? She found me through the lavatory mirror. And I believe it’s been approximately six hours since you stopped by her home to ask her about Saraj Prendi.”

The creeping flush chilled white and sunk back into Ceony’s spine. Aviosky! You couldn’t keep a secret if your life depended on it!

But of course Mg. Aviosky had told Emery. Ceony was only an apprentice; Mg. Thane was technically her guardian.