The Master Magician

After a few more miles, the buggy reached the end of a long dirt road with a row of grass growing in the middle of it. The vehicle turned about in a wide circle, pulling up to a thick and well-pruned wall of bushes that acted as a fence around a property that seemed larger than the entire Mill Squats. The trim grounds had no flowers, only decorative shrubbery of all shapes and sizes.

Ceony stepped out of the buggy, her movements sluggish, her mouth agape. The house itself stood a dozen times larger than the cottage, built of brick that looked like sandstone in the sun and mauve in the shade. Three chimneys rose from the tightly shingled roof, and every window held three glass panes trimmed with white. Ivy covered half the house, including a smaller section on the left that looked to be servants’ quarters but seemed unoccupied.

The mansion dwarfed Ceony the way Big Ben might dwarf an ant. She had thought Mg. Aviosky’s house excessively large, but Ceony’s entire family, her cousins included, couldn’t possibly use all the space inside this manor.

But perhaps the starkest difference was the lack of paper. Emery’s home was covered in paper wards and paper décor. Even the gardens sported paper plants. But not a shred of magic touched this house. It looked positively normal, if expensive.

She glanced to Emery. “This can’t be the right place.”

“Oh, I have a feeling it is,” he commented, circling the buggy to pull Ceony’s suitcase from the trunk. “The textbook industry must be doing remarkably well.”

“Textbooks?”

“Last I heard, that was Prit’s specialty. Enchanted textbooks that rewrite themselves depending on the student’s reading level, diagrams that pop off the page, and the like. Very popular in America. Did you not have them at Praff?”

She frowned. “No, but wouldn’t that have been remarkable? Perhaps I wouldn’t have dragged my feet about Folding so much had my donor provided them.”

Emery chuckled.

Ceony scanned the bushes until she found an arched gateway several paces to her left. She took a few steps toward it before turning back to Emery and asking, “Do we . . . let ourselves in?”

Emery opened his mouth to respond, then spied over the bushes and answered, “Seems help is on the way.”

Ceony followed his gaze and stood on her toes. She spied a cobbled walkway leading from the mansion’s central door and a flash of sunny-blond hair bobbing along it—hair that made Ceony think of Delilah. Moments later the gate unbolted and a man Ceony’s age stepped through.

Though it had been two years, Ceony recognized him immediately. “Bennet Cooper?” she asked. He had graduated with Ceony from Tagis Praff, having placed third in class. Ceony had placed first.

Bennet offered a sheepish smile. Sunlight glinted off his straight, equally sunny hair. He wore simple tan slacks and a simple, white, collared shirt without pockets under his red apprentice’s vest. Ceony wondered if she should have worn her apprentice’s apron as well.

“Hi, Ceony,” he said. He then stiffened like a soldier and added, “Magician Thane, it’s a pleasure to meet you finally.”

Bennet took a few long strides and offered his hand to the paper magician, who stood taller in height by several inches. Emery shook the apprentice’s hand with an amused twinkle in his eye. Bennet continued. “I’ve heard a great many things about you.”

“And you still shook my hand?” Emery asked. “Your mother raised you well.”

Bennet blinked wide eyes. “Sir?”

Emery patted Bennet’s shoulder and strolled up to the gate. “I’m sure Magician Bailey has chattered quite a bit about me in the last few days . . . Ah, here he comes now.”

Bennet glanced in Ceony’s direction and finnicked with the elbows of his shirt before hurrying to the gate. He pushed it open and held it for several seconds before a tall man emerged.

Ceony recognized him from the memory of Emery’s secondary-school experience, though Pritwin Bailey had certainly grown these last fifteen years. He stood straight and narrow, wearing simple clothes as Bennet did, though they had been well tailored and made of fine materials. His pale skin looked as if it had never seen the light of day, and his dark hair only made his complexion appear more washed out. He had a long, slim face free of any facial hair and a pair of thin, gold spectacles perched on his nose.

But what struck Ceony foremost about his appearance was the lack of a smile on his face—or any sign of goodwill whatsoever.

“Thane,” he said, clasping his hands behind his back. There would be no handshake, then. “You seem unchanged.”

“I do try,” Emery replied. His lip quirked almost as if to smile, and Pritwin’s mood seemed to grow ever grimmer.

Bennet cleared his throat. “Magician Bailey, this is Ceony Twill, Magician Thane’s apprentice.”

“I know who she is,” Mg. Bailey said, and though his response was bland, Ceony didn’t detect malice in his tone. Good—the man had no reason to hold qualms against her, save by association. Mg. Bailey adjusted his spectacles and looked down at Ceony. “I hope you’ve come prepared. I have no intention of postponing your test for lack of study.”