The Master Magician

She scrolled back a little further and played out the conversation.

“—found her body near Waddesdon,” Mg. Hughes said, his voice low and tired. Ceony couldn’t see his reflection in the mirror, only his skewed face in Mg. Aviosky’s glasses. “The heart was harvested, but no blood drained. I doubt he had time. I won’t know the details for sure until the autopsy . . .”

Mg. Aviosky’s face grew waxy and pale. Her lips quivered, but she said nothing.

“We’re contacting her family tonight,” Mg. Hughes continued. “In the meantime I’m sending patrol into Oxford and Aylesbury. We’ll find him, Patrice.”

Ceony froze the image. “He’s heading back to London,” she whispered. “He’s coming for me.”

She rolled her lips together—this was information Criminal Affairs didn’t have. Closing her eyes, she pulled forward the memory of Mg. Bailey’s map, traced her mind’s eye over London, Waddesdon, Oxford, Aylesbury. If Saraj was going to pass through any of those cities, Ceony would bet a year’s worth of stipends it was Aylesbury, which was closer to London. She had little time to prepare.

Breaking the spell, Ceony turned back for the mirror she had come through, using it to return to the lavatory on the third floor of Mg. Bailey’s mansion. She gathered her things from the sink—toothbrush, comb, handkerchief—and brought them into her room, laying them out beside Fennel on the bed. She needed to pack light, but smart. Anything she could use. Plus anything she’d need for spells—

A shadow passed over the afternoon sunlight streaming into her room. Peering out the window, Ceony again spied the paper hawk from before, flying vulture-like circles beside the house. Such a peculiar pet for Mg. Bailey to keep around.

She checked the windowsill, but Emery had once again failed to contact her. She tapped her fingernails against the sill. Why had he stopped? It was starting to anger her. Emery Thane wasn’t the passive-aggressive type. If he had an agenda, he would open his mouth and—

Her thoughts cut off. She looked again at the hawk. A strange choice of pet, indeed. That was the beneficial thing about paper animals—so long as they didn’t get wet, they required less maintenance than real creatures. Take Fennel, for instance. Ceony never had to walk him, bathe him, clean up after him. Feed him.

And what do hawks eat? Ceony thought, retreating from the window. She pulled a square of paper off her breakfast table and Folded a songbird. Animating it, she opened her window and tossed it into the spring air. The small bird fluttered back and forth for a moment, then flew toward the tree line at the edge of Mg. Bailey’s property.

And, like a real bird of prey, the hawk swooped down and intercepted it, snatching the bird in its long paper talons. Then it glided toward the mansion, where it perched near one of the windows of the first floor, the paper bird still in tow.

Mg. Bailey’s office.

Ceony’s hand rushed to her mouth. He knows, she thought, chills raining onto her from every direction. She hadn’t seen the hawk in her first few days at the mansion because Mg. Bailey hadn’t built it yet. He must have seen the birds leaving Ceony’s window . . . or the creatures coming to her window. Messages from Emery. Messages he could break the confidentiality spells on. Messages that revealed her relationship with . . .

She stepped back from the pane. Emery hadn’t stopped writing her; Mg. Bailey had intercepted his letters. Read them. He—

And like oil heating in a pan, something in Ceony popped. Searing heat evaporated any trace of fear. Reddened her face. Quickened her heart.

“How dare he!” she shouted. She stormed from her bedroom, unshod feet hammering into the floorboards of the hall, banging down two sets of stairs. Steaming, Ceony strode right to Mg. Bailey’s office and threw open the door.

The room was unoccupied. The hawk remained perched outside the window.

Ceony rushed into the room, scanning the desktop, and pulled open one drawer after another. The bottom drawer on the right stuck—locked.

Her hand reached under her collar to her necklace. She murmured a few quick words and became a Smelter. She pressed her thumb to the lock, hoping it was made of an alloy, and commanded it, “Unlatch.”

The lock clicked and Ceony yanked the drawer open. Inside was an assortment of skewed papers in various colors, once Folded, now just crinkled. They were covered in handwriting, both hers and Emery’s.

She jerked out a violet sheet and smoothed it out in her hands.

I imagine you’re swamped with preparations for your exam. Don’t overexert yourself. You’re bright; you’ll win. Don’t forget to relax once in a while; hopefully this will help, if this bat can even carry it that far!

Let me know how you’re doing. I tend to worry, love.

Ceony’s lips parted. She turned the paper over, then over again, noticing a smear of brown at its bottom. She smelled it. Chocolate. What had Emery sent her? And how long ago?