The Master Magician

But had the bird seen Saraj himself? Perhaps it had simply found another Indian community, or some foreigner matching Saraj’s description. This might be another wild-goose chase. Of course, the bird could have located a different clue entirely.

“Thank you,” she told the songbird as she drew back from the map. “Cease.”

The animation flew out of the crinkled spell, putting the worn bird at rest.

She sat back on her heels, still cradling the bird. Reading. Could it be?

She had to know. She had to see for herself! A large part of her wished desperately that the bird was mistaken. That a simple paper spell couldn’t have found anything of use.

Emery would tell me if there were any important updates, she thought. And surely Magician Hughes would tell him . . .

She glanced to the bird in her hands. Setting it down once more, Ceony used her necklace to become a Smelter, using “Target” and “Launch” commands on the tacks to return the map to its proper position on the wall. Returning to paper magic, she hurried from the library, winding her way back to her bedroom. The two rooms were spaced far enough apart that her lungs gasped for air by the time she reached her destination.

She set the songbird on the breakfast table and hurried to the window, checking its sill for further messages. Nothing. She opened the pane and stuck her head outside, searching the air and grounds in the dimming light. Seeing no sign of an incoming message, she sucked in a deep breath and stepped away from the window, leaving it open. She paced to the table and back.

So close, she thought, rubbing chills from her shoulders. She should send a message to her parents, alert them.

But she didn’t know for sure. She couldn’t until she went to Reading, explored it with her own eyes.

“You have no reason to go after him . . . Promise me you won’t.”

Ceony chewed her lower lip. “But I’m not going after him,” she murmured to herself. “I’m only looking.”

Her gut twisted, tight as a wrung rag, and her heart started to grow heavy. She glanced to the window again. Still nothing. She should write him.

And say what? she wondered, stretching back to relieve the twisting and weighing. Nothing that wouldn’t get her into trouble, one way or another. And her nerves frayed too much for her to forge a cheery note.

She paced to the window and back, window and back, ignoring the way Fennel’s eyeless face noiselessly followed her.

Reading. She could try and find a mirror . . . but the one in the lavatory next door was too small to fit through, and what if she missed the mark again and ended up somewhere outside Reading, alone and at night? Could she just transport from mirror to mirror until she got where she wanted, depending on luck to protect her from getting trapped in the purgatory between tarnished looking glasses?

She could summon a buggy at first light, but how much would it cost to hire a buggy to Reading? Would the train be faster? Would Mg. Bailey let her go? He might be happy to see the back of her, but she didn’t want to antagonize him any more than she already had.

Ceony knit her fingers together and continued pacing. If she left now, she’d have the cover of darkness. Saraj would share that advantage, of course, but Ceony could handle that. Besides, if she were either a Gaffer or a Pyre, she could create light with the snap of her fingers. The cover of night would also help conceal her bond-breaking talent from others—bystanders, policemen, even Criminal Affairs itself. If others learned of it, they might not be as withholding with the information as Ceony was.

And what will you do if you find him, Ceony? she wondered. Will you kill him?

Her breath hitched. She worried her lip. She’d killed Grath, yes, and didn’t regret doing so. He’d murdered Delilah. He would have killed her and Mg. Aviosky, too, if given the chance.

But did she really want to take a second life? Perhaps she could just maim Saraj, hurt him enough so he couldn’t fight back . . . but no. She couldn’t allow him another chance at escape. He had already been tried and convicted, besides. He was supposed to be dead.

Breathing in, Ceony filled her lungs until they threatened to burst, then let the air out all at once. If she found Saraj, if they had a confrontation . . . she wouldn’t hold back. She couldn’t afford to. He was undeserving of mercy.

But there was still the issue of getting to Reading. She could risk the mirrors again, but Ceony worried her luck with using non-Gaffered glass was wearing thin. A buggy might not come out this late, not without extra fees, and her next stipend payment was a week away. Still, it would be worth it, no? It would—

“Magician Bailey has his own Mercedes, and sometimes he lets me take it out.”

“Bennet,” she whispered. He could drive her to the train station now. She’d save on time, as well as a few pounds. And if she used the new enchanted Smelter rails installed at the Central London Railway, she could be in Reading before midnight.