The Master Magician

“I went shopping,” she said, wincing as the poor lie escaped her lips. She had no bags, no receipts. Nothing to prove it, and Emery knew her well enough to know she couldn’t tolerate window-shopping for six hours.

She swallowed a sigh and straightened, but her five-foot-three frame had nothing on Emery’s. “I didn’t do anything wrong,” she said, moving down the hallway. She tried to pass him, but he caught her elbow.

“By all means, enlighten me on what you did do,” he said.

Ceony felt her own fire pulse outward from her chest. “I’m not dabbling with Excisioners, if that’s what you’re worried about,” she snapped, pulling her arm free.

The reference to Lira—Emery’s ex-wife—was too hard of a blow, but Ceony stomped into the kitchen before she could glimpse his face. Fennel jumped up from where he lay by the dining room table, but Ceony ignored him and fled up the stairs to her bedroom. She dropped her purse on the floor—kicking it under the bed—and yanked the clip from her hair. Uneven orange curls tumbled over her shoulders. She shook them out before placing both hands on her hips, then sucked in one deep breath. Another.

She didn’t even hear the paper magician’s footsteps approach her door, just his voice. “Ceony.”

“I went to Gosport,” she said, not turning around.

“Gosport and back in six hours?”

“You’re not the only one with a glider,” she lied, hoping he wouldn’t call her out on it. “Magician Aviosky couldn’t tell me much, so I went to Gosport to look around. I didn’t find much, but I thought I’d make the effort. I’ve gotten weary of letting our enemies find me first.”

The door frame creaked as Emery leaned against it. “I thought you were over this—running off and taking matters into your own hands. I thought we talked about this. On several occasions.”

She turned around. The fire had left his eyes, but his face remained mirthless. “You talked at me about it, maybe.” She sighed. “I’m not jumping through mirrors hunting down an Excisioner with a gun again.” Half lie. “Saraj wasn’t anywhere near Gosport.” Hopefully a lie.

“But he could have been.”

“He could also be in my closet,” she quipped. “Or hiding in the ivy.” She gestured to the window. “Or having tea with the butcher, biding his time until one of us needs a pound of pork. You yourself said that Saraj has no reason to come after us.” Or does he? North. Why did he go north?

“Then you have no reason to go after him,” he replied. He stood straight and ran a hand back through his hair, making the waves fall unevenly about his face. “It makes me sick to think about it, Ceony. Lira, Grath . . . It’s like you have a checklist for dangerous criminals tucked into your pocket, and you won’t be satisfied until you’ve had a personal encounter with each.”

Ceony folded her arms, more for comfort than out of anger. “I just want to know my family is safe.”

“Are they?”

It wasn’t a mocking question, just a prod into what Ceony had found. She debated telling him, but she didn’t want Emery dwelling on her unnatural use of magic. She’d kept the secret for too long to tell him now.

“I don’t think he left England,” she replied, softer. “And if that’s true, I want to know why. Did you know he escaped near a naval base? Even he wouldn’t risk crossing the water near so many soldiers. What if he’s trying to lose himself among the common folk, all the while harvesting them as he plans his great escape, or worse?”

Emery stepped into the room, a long breath passing through his nostrils. He set a heavy hand on either of Ceony’s shoulders. “I messaged Alfred today, but he had little information to share. I will contact him again and ask to be kept informed,” he offered. “Will that be enough?”

Would it? Ceony didn’t know. “So long as he doesn’t involve you in the case,” she said.

“Or you,” Emery added. His grip lightened, as did his tone. “Promise me you won’t try to go after this man.”

Ceony frowned. “I’ll promise if you will.”

A slight smile touched Emery’s lips and eyes. “Promise.”

“Promise.”

He kissed her lightly on the lips. “Let’s find something for dinner,” he said. “And pack your bags. I’m to introduce you to Magician Pritwin Bailey tomorrow morning.”



Nerves roused Ceony early the next morning, but she took her time getting ready, humming old lullabies to herself as she dressed and pinned her hair in an effort to keep herself calm. She chose a rose-colored dress from her closet—she’d obtained a few rather nice pieces of clothing during her apprenticeship—and summoned Jonto to help her with its buttons. She looped a light-red ascot around her neck and, despite the warm weather, the dark-olive jacket that had come with the dress. She left the matching hat on her bed while she had a boiled egg for breakfast. It would be impossible to stomach more than that.

Today is the start of the finishing, she thought as she broke into the shell of her small meal. A couple weeks with Prit—no, Magician Bailey—and I’ll take my test. I’ll become a magician.