The Master Magician

Swallowing, she wrote, Where?

You are safe, Miss Twill, the Gaffer replied. Mg. Hughes is on top of the case. I’ll let you know—

Ceony wrote in the space ahead of Mg. Aviosky’s sentence. Where?

Several minutes passed before the spell read, Do not be brash. I will let you know when Saraj is found.

Ceony tried to goad Mg. Aviosky further, but the Gaffer refused to respond after that. The mimic spell had nearly run out of space in any event.

Crumpling into a chair, Ceony stared at the brief conversation in her hands. Saraj wouldn’t have stayed in Reading, not after his run-in with Ceony, but Criminal Affairs would have started their search there after her anonymous tip. How far had Mg. Cantrell tracked Saraj before?

Ceony tapped her pencil against the tabletop, clenching her teeth to keep from sobbing. Deeper and deeper into England. Still not arrested. Mg. Cantrell was likely the reason Saraj hadn’t tracked Ceony down yet—he hadn’t had time, being on the run. Would he save the Smelter’s heart for the spell he’d use on Ceony? On Emery? Ceony knew one thing: there was no limit to the number of people Saraj would kill to get his freedom and a little pocket change on the side. Was he headed toward London for her, in pursuit of Grath’s secret, or had he given up that chase for the sake of escape?

She slammed her pencil tip onto the table, breaking it off. She’d beaten Lira. She’d beaten Grath. And yet still no one would confide in her! No one would let her help.

She couldn’t go to Reading to try and track Saraj down, could she? Her magician’s test was approaching rapidly. Could she scour an entire city searching for one elusive man? Her clues at Gosport had been found by luck alone. She hadn’t even been able to deduce where Emery had gone off to.

But she had a better chance of beating him than anyone else. She could play both prey and predator. She could be Mg. Cantrell and Mg. Hughes and Mg. Aviosky and Emery all in one.

She scanned the mimic spell. Paused. Touched her necklace.

Whatever Mg. Aviosky knew, Mg. Hughes told her. And Ceony had a hunch as to how he’d conveyed the information.

She’d strike in the afternoon, when Mg. Aviosky would be away for her educational duties.

By this time tomorrow, Ceony would know, too.





CHAPTER 13




THERE WERE TWO nice things about mirror-transporting to the home of a Gaffer. First, there were dozens of available mirrors large enough for Ceony to fit through. Second, all the mirrors were crafted from Gaffer’s glass, so they were free of impurities, which made the travel incredibly safe. Delilah had once told Ceony that one should only travel through Gaffer’s glass to avoid becoming trapped, but so far Ceony hadn’t afforded the caution.

Ceony’s socked feet stepped soundlessly into Mg. Aviosky’s mirror room on the third floor of her home. Ceony entered through a rectangular mirror taller than she was, and the swirling portal of its glass smoothed as soon as she made it through. She paused, holding her breath, listening to the creaks of the house. As far as her ears could tell, the house was empty.

She rubbed shivers from her neck. This mirror room was not the same as the one in which Delilah had died, but the mirrors were, and Mg. Aviosky had arranged them in the same way. Ceony hadn’t been surrounded by these mirrors since the day Grath Cobalt had jerked her through the doorway and sliced open her skin with hundreds of window shards.

Ceony glanced to the corner, imagining Delilah strapped to a chair there. She felt hollow. Hollow, and an almost unbearable chill.

She shook her head, willing sad thoughts away. Mg. Aviosky herself had said it would do no good to dwell on the memories. Such an easy thing for the Gaffer to claim. If only Ceony’s memories dulled as easily as others’ did.

She searched for one mirror in particular—the one she’d used to contact Mg. Hughes as she lay bleeding on the floor beside Grath. Mg. Hughes had never asked her how she managed to contact him; he likely thought Delilah or Mg. Aviosky had performed the spell. And Mg. Aviosky . . . well, she had been unconscious at the time. She’d never questioned just how Mg. Hughes had come to the rescue.

Ceony turned around and spotted the mirror behind her. It had been moved. She approached its dark frame.

“Reflect, past,” she said, fingers to the glass. Her image swirled. As in Gosport, Ceony rolled the images of the mirror backward, carefully watching them scroll. She saw sunlight fade and dim, saw Mg. Aviosky enter, use a different mirror, leave. The room darkened, lightened. Mg. Aviosky appeared again, standing right where Ceony now stood.

“Hold,” Ceony commanded, and the image of the Gaffer froze. Ceony focused on Mg. Aviosky’s spectacles, where she saw a reflection of Mg. Hughes in the lenses.