The Master Magician

Emery entered the kitchen, covering a yawn with his knuckles.

Ceony slid the spoon into the egg’s flesh. I won’t be Emery’s apprentice anymore. No more secrets. No more gossip. No more waiting.

She smiled to herself and chewed on the bit of egg. It grew bland in her mouth. Unless I fail.

She could take the test again, eventually. But Ceony suspected that the humiliation of failure would carry a greater weight than the failure itself.

“Should I be jealous?” Emery asked as he pulled a half loaf of bread out of the cupboard—cheese-and-herb bread Ceony had made two days ago.

Ceony glanced up from her egg. “Hmm?”

“I don’t think you’ve worn that since Patrice’s luncheon. Magician Bailey will be impressed.”

Ceony rolled her eyes. “I want to make a good impression.”

Emery chuckled to himself and buttered two slices of bread. “The buggy should be here soon. Do you have your suitcase packed?”

“So eager to get rid of me?”

“Eager?” he repeated, rolling back the sleeves of his favorite indigo coat. “My kitchen will be empty in two days and I’ll be forced to purchase my own groceries. How could I be eager for that?”

Ceony smiled and scooped out more egg. “You could always have Jonto cook your meals.”

In fact, Emery once had tried to get Jonto to cook his meals. It had taken the paper magician two days to reconstruct the right hand and arm of the paper skeleton, which had burned off after Jonto attempted to light the coals in the oven.

“I’ll be sure to stock up on sandwich supplies,” Emery murmured.

“And all you’ll miss is the food, hm?”

His eyes glimmered. “I may miss the mid-night companionship.”

Ceony flushed. “Emery Thane!” That was one time.

Emery just chuckled, the cursed man. Peeling the shell off her breakfast, Ceony asked, “When was the last time you saw Magician Bailey?”

“Saw him?” Emery repeated between bites. “I suppose at that fund-raising banquet. The one where a certain hot-tempered young waitress dumped a pitcher of wine on a guest’s lap.” He smiled. “Spoke to him, though . . . My graduation from Praff, unless you count the recent telegrams and mail birds.”

“You really don’t like each other, then.”

“He doesn’t like me,” Emery corrected. “And I can’t blame him. But he’s not the most remarkable fellow himself.”

“Emery!”

The paper magician smiled, the expression all in his bright-green eyes, like he knew something Ceony didn’t. Ceony sighed. She would miss those eyes. But her test had been scheduled for three weeks from today. Compared with how long she’d already waited, three weeks was next to nothing.

The buggy arrived. A violet paper butterfly rested on the seat beside the driver, bearing the cottage’s address on its right wing in Emery’s handwriting. Emery loaded Ceony’s suitcase into the automobile’s trunk before taking a seat beside her. The buggy turned around and headed back into London.

“Relax,” Emery whispered after a few minutes on the road. He placed a hand over Ceony’s, which had been twisting a pleat in her skirt between thumb and middle finger. “You’ll be fine.”

“Would I pass your test?” she asked back, keeping her words low. “If you tested me, would I pass?”

“It’s all the same test. There are certain regulations.”

“Maybe the answer keys are all the same,” Ceony began, “but that doesn’t make it all the same test.”

Emery hummed an agreement. He said nothing more, only took Ceony’s hand between his own. The warmth of his skin buzzed up her arm like fireflies.

The buggy drove through London, hitting a bit of horse traffic near Newington. Ceony focused on her pleats as the buggy passed over the River Thames. They drove by Parliament Square and headed west out of the main city, toward Shepherd’s Bush, where Mg. Bailey lived.

Shepherd’s Bush was a mostly rural and residential area spotted with farmland. Ceony watched the houses scroll by, their yards and walls growing with each passing mile. She soon found herself staring at homes bigger than the cottage, then bigger than Mg. Aviosky’s house, then bigger yet. The space between the houses grew, too, and the street became narrower.

She glanced at Emery, but he seemed just as curious as she. Of course he had never been to Mg. Bailey’s home.