The Master Magician

She smoothed out a teal paper.

I think I’m going to reorganize the library shelves by book thickness. What do you think? All the quick reads in one place, all the heavy tomes (your favorite) in another.

An orange paper that had once been a crane read, in her handwriting, I’m worried about you. Why haven’t you written? Has something come up? Do you need help?

A gray paper that had been wadded into a ball read, in Emery’s penmanship, I hope I’m not bothering you, or that you’ve moved rooms. Remember to think outside the box. I believe in you, Ceony. Also, I’m either suddenly allergic to walnuts or whatever wool the grocery lad had on today.

Another bat, white, reading, Alfred confirmed Saraj’s sighting. He has officers watching your family, and one who comes by the cottage a couple times a day. I’ll keep you posted—

“What are you doing?” Mg. Bailey’s sharp voice cut from the doorway, jerking Ceony to her feet. His pale skin flushed, and his shoulders grew rigid. He stomped toward her, reaching for the note in her hand. “This is trespassing—”

“And this is stealing!” Ceony shouted back, loud enough that her voice echoed off the walls. She pulled her hand back, keeping the notes from Mg. Bailey’s reach.

“Stealing!” the Folder repeated. “On my property? Perhaps you should have tried harder to hide your little secrets. You’re lucky I haven’t reported you, Ceony Twill!”

“Go ahead!” she said. “Report me! Read the rule book, Prit. I’ve done nothing wrong, and neither has he. Why do you think he’d send me here? Why do you think I’d tolerate being under the same roof with a man as intolerable and insufferable as you? It’s in the interest of fairness! Not that you could understand that concept!”

She stooped and snatched up the remaining stolen letters. Again Mg. Bailey tried to grab for them, but she back-stepped before he could get a grip.

“It’s not his fault, you know,” she said, seething. “It’s neither Magician Thane’s fault nor mine that you’re so depressed and angry all the time. You feed off your own sourness. You grow it like a vineyard!”

The Folder’s eyes widened.

“You wonder why no one likes you,” she spat, stepping around the desk. She charged for the door, escaped into the hallway. Mg. Bailey didn’t follow.

She reached the staircase out of breath, fumbling with her mess of notes. At the top of the stairs she saw Bennet, searching the well with worry on his face. What had he heard? No details from such a distance, but certainly the shouting.

Ceony met his gaze. It bore into her like a cold spike. She glanced away, glanced back. Took a deep breath. Collecting the letters, she shoved them into her skirt pocket and returned to the office.

Mg. Bailey sat facing the window. His glasses rested on top of his head, and one hand massaged his right temple.

When Ceony spoke, he startled.

“I suppose . . . that was a bit harsh,” she said, stiff-backed in her efforts to stay cool. “I apologize for that, though I in no way condone any of . . . this.” She waved her hand before the desk.

Mg. Bailey merely eyed her, his expression unreadable. She wasn’t sure he could even see her clearly without his glasses.

“You’re smart, Magician Bailey,” she said, “and obviously very successful. Bennet speaks well of you, and he’s never given me reason to disbelieve him.”

“Is there a point to this, Miss Twill?” Mg. Bailey asked.

“What I mean to say is that you have good traits. I just wish you’d use them for good. You can’t be content meddling with other people’s lives like this.”

Mg. Bailey snorted.

“You think I’ve misjudged you,” she said, folding her arms, “but you’ve misjudged me. You sized me up before you ever met me, Pritwin Bailey. I have no doubt about that. I can only hope we’ll find a right foot somewhere on this bumpy road.”

She turned to leave but hesitated. Glancing back, she added, “And if any of your personal feelings toward me alter the outcome of my magician’s test, I’ll know, and I will report you to the Cabinet.”

She waited an extra second for a response, but when none came, she excused herself and tromped back to the stairs in a much slower, calmer fashion. She slipped a hand into her letter-filled pocket. She couldn’t send a bird from the mansion, not with that hawk scouting the grounds. Instead she spied into the cottage lavatory with her makeup compact. No towels hung on the wall; no sounds pierced the lavatory walls.

“Cease,” Ceony said, shutting her compact. She could send a bird after she left the estate. She had an Excisioner to find, and this time neither of them would leave the confrontation running.





CHAPTER 14