The Master Magician

“No, no, I’ll come down,” she said, feeling a little lost in the wide space.

“Do you like it? I could move you,” Bennet offered. “I made sure to dust it this morning, and the sheets are clean. Is it too hot? Oh, I forgot the pitcher and basin.”

Ceony smiled. “It’s lovely, and I don’t need a pitcher with a lavatory right next door,” she said. “Thank you. It’s just different, that’s all.”

Bennet nodded, seeming pleased. “All right. My window is just below yours, so if you want to send a paper messenger to me for anything, please do.”

“Perfect,” Ceony said.

Bennet hesitated a moment, then nodded and excused himself. Ceony took the time to hang up her clothes and organize her personal items until dinner, which Mg. Bailey took in his office. Afterward, Ceony arranged her study materials in her dresser drawers. She could use one of the desks in the apprentices’ study tomorrow. She slid her charm necklace around her neck and under her blouse, then reanimated Fennel, who sniffed about his new surroundings with a papery vigor.

Letting out a sigh, Ceony leaned against the mattress of the bed, surprised at how soft it felt. The sun had just begun to set, but perhaps she would turn in early and get a fresh start tomorrow. She did have a lot of work ahead of her.

A faint tapping on the rightmost window caught her attention. Lifting its curtains, she spied a turquoise paper butterfly hovering outside the glass. A message from Bennet?

It took a few heaves to open the seldom-used windowpane. Once she did, the butterfly fluttered in and gracefully landed on the glass table.

“Cease,” she said, stilling its wings. She turned it over and unfolded it, recognizing the handwriting hidden inside its body immediately. Bennet hadn’t sent this spell.

Emery had.





CHAPTER 8




CEONY CAREFULLY UNFOLDED the rest of the butterfly. The message had been scripted in pen—the copper-toned one Emery kept on his nightstand. The beautiful, flawless curves of each stroke made her smile before her mind even sorted out the words.

I hope this finds your room and not the housemaid’s. There’s nothing like jam and cold bread to make a man appreciate a woman.

Setting the butterfly down, Ceony retrieved a few pieces of paper she had packed into her bag—it was always smart for a Folder to carry a personal supply—and wrote out her response in the center of a white square.

You wouldn’t be in poor company if you hired a cook. Prit does! I need to write a letter to Mg. Aviosky and thank her for assigning me to you and not him. I don’t know how Bennet has kept such a stiff upper lip, working with him so long.

She paused, wondering if she should be careful with names. Shrugging, she Folded the square into a crane, slipping a farthing into its belly to give it some weight, should a nightly wind try to interrupt its course. She then Folded a link to a chain spell—only one, for the crane was small—out of a portion of the butterfly Emery had sent.

“Lock,” she said, and the link tightened around the crane’s torso without interfering with its wings. The spell would ensure that only the man whose handwriting was on the chain would be able to unfold the crane. Anyone else would destroy it trying.

Uttering instructions to the bird, Ceony sent it out her window and watched it fly off through the last tendrils of sunlight.

Fennel whined at her ankles—an unsurprising complaint, for she had neglected him most of the day. If nothing else, he would provide some entertainment while Ceony waited for her paper charm to fly across London.

Lighting a few extra candles—the mansion didn’t have electric lights in most of the guestrooms—Ceony threw a knotted stocking back and forth for the paper dog for several minutes before slipping into the lavatory to wash her face and change into her night things. She tied a robe around herself even though she had no intention of leaving her room—one could never be too careful about avoiding Peeping Toms in a new place.

Fennel huffed at her, and in the spaces between his enchanted breaths, Ceony noticed how silent the large house really was. Someone could drop a fork in the kitchen two floors down and she’d hear it from up here.

She rubbed gooseflesh from her arms. With his room directly beneath hers, Bennet had the benefit of hearing her floorboards squeak.

Ceony’s eyelids were growing heavy by the time a second, gray butterfly flew through her cracked window and landed gracefully on the breakfast table. Like she’d done with her crane, Emery had fastened a privacy link about the spell’s body. His managed to look much more refined than her own, despite sporting all the same Folds. She unfolded the butterfly and read:

It will do wonders for your patience. Don’t let him postpone your test, Ceony. You’re ready. I have every confidence in you.

And I do hope you’re not focusing too strongly on young Bennet’s upper lip.