The Master Magician

Several complaints? Ceony thought. Surely not about her and Emery. Surely! So few knew. Mg. Aviosky wouldn’t have reported anything, would she have? And Ceony knew her mother would never have said a word. She had seemed rather taken with the idea of having a daughter in romantic league with a magician.

She thought of Zina and felt her stomach sink. Surely Zina wouldn’t have filed a complaint with the Cabinet . . . and wouldn’t it take more than one complaint to make a ruling, besides? Ceony had to believe the best of her sister or go insane imagining the what-ifs. If nothing else, Ceony could take comfort in knowing Zina would likely be too lazy to fill out a report.

How strange it all felt. She and Zina had never been at odds before, not like this.

“What is it?” asked Bennet.

Reassigned. Ceony frowned. If she didn’t pass her magician’s test in three weeks, she might not be able to continue her tutelage under Emery. Perhaps she wouldn’t even be able to stay in London. There was only one female Folder of whom Ceony knew, and rumor had it she’d moved to the United States.

“Ceony?”

“Oh, sorry.” She handed back the newspaper and passed Bennet a plate so he could serve himself. Bennet inspected the newspaper, probably trying to determine what article had so grasped Ceony’s attention. To avoid conversation, Ceony examined the list Mg. Bailey had given her. After scanning to number fifty-eight, she refocused on the first item: Something to open a door.

Open a door? she wondered. As in a paper spell to open a door? But who would craft a spell to turn a handle when it could so easily be done without magic?

I have to pass this test, she chided herself. The stakes were higher now than ever.

She tapped the corner of the list against her lips. Jonto was capable of opening a door. Not that she had time to construct a paper butler, but it gave her an idea.

#2. Something that breathes. Any animation would do. She could Fold that in her sleep.

#3. Something to tell a tale. Story illusion.

#4. Something that sticks.

“Sticks?” she repeated. Something sticky, or something to stick to something else? A throwing star might serve a purpose there . . . but it would be best to come up with multiple solutions. Better to overprepare than be caught off guard. She had a feeling Mg. Bailey wouldn’t give her any clues.

“Hm?” Bennet asked, swallowing a mouthful of egg. He eyed her list. “I don’t think I’m supposed to know anything about that.”

Chewing on her lip, Ceony rolled up the list and stuck it in her skirt pocket. “Let us assume that I’ll be very, very busy while I’m here,” she said.

She eyed the newspaper and wondered if Emery had seen the article, too.



Ceony took the cushioned chair in the corner of the apprentices’ study while Mg. Bailey instructed Bennet in his next Folding lesson. The study was about the size of Emery’s library, which meant it was relatively small for the enormous home. It had a short bookcase half-filled with books, a narrow shelf that appeared to be filled with homework assignments and notebooks, and a row of six desks—far more than necessary—taking up the east wall. A giant, multipaned window comprised the entire north wall, and the west held cubbies stacked with various lengths and thicknesses of paper. Two simple chandeliers hung from the ceiling, both made of glass bulbs filled with Pyre-enchanted fire, much like the streetlamps in downtown London. They would light when the room grew dark, and didn’t require new glass or matches, though a Pyre would need to come twice a year to rejuvenate their glow. Ceony had learned that from her readings on fire magic.

Her attention wasn’t focused on the lights, however, but on number fourteen on her list of tasks: Something to hide the truth. A blind box could work perfectly for that, unless Mg. Bailey expected her to use a nullification spell on a fortuity box. That didn’t require much in the way of preparation, however. Ceony would merely need to command the fortuity box “UnFold” while the fortune-teller used it, and she doubted the test could be that easy.

“It will destroy the paper with random tears,” Mg. Bailey said to Bennet from one side of a cherrywood table. Bennet occupied the other side. They both sat with rigid backs. The “Shred” lesson seemed overly formal, in Ceony’s opinion.

“Observe,” he said, holding up a piece of unused paper. Such a waste.

“Shred,” Mg. Bailey commanded, and the paper tore itself into over a dozen uneven portions. Bennet collected the pieces into a neat pile on the table surface. Once he had finished, Mg. Bailey continued. “It works on various sizes of paper, and on active paper spells—”