The Master Magician

She’d killed before. She could do it again, couldn’t she?

Her pulse, still fast, seemed to change its rhythm. It sounded—felt—unfamiliar to her, like she had stepped into the body of another person, moving their flesh as her own.

“Material made by earth,” she whispered, pinching the wooden staff of one of the matches on her necklace as she moved toward the school, “your handler summons you. Unlink to me as I link through you, unto this very day.

“Material made by man,” she continued, pressing her hand to her breast, “I summon you. Link to me as I link to you, unto this very day.”

She lit the match and said, “Material made by man, your creator summons you. Link to me as I link to you through my years, until the day I die and become earth.”

She closed her hand around the flame as she stepped onto the grassy lawn of the school. Heat radiated through her palm and arm—tingling, though not burning. She let the match drop from her fingers but kept its tiny flame at her palm.

Saraj had left the door cracked open. She pulled its handle to open it wider, then stepped into a dark hallway lit in dim patches from shutterless windows. She stepped softly, balancing on the rubber pads still adhered to her soles. The narrow spaces between her fingers glowed red with the flame they concealed.

She heard a footstep around the corner, the faintest creak of a shoe as the other foot stopped short. He was listening. Waiting. He knew she was here.

Ceony stepped up to the corner. Pushed her shoulder into the brick. Brought her fist up to her mouth and whispered, “Flare.”

The footsteps started again and sped up, louder, louder. Coming for her.

Her body surged around the corner, flames bursting from her hand now, sending their golden brilliance down the hallway. Illuminating her attacker and the burst spell flying from his hand.

And in that light she saw him, his dark hair cropped short, his charcoal-gray coat, the flames reflected in his green eyes.

Instead of yelling the “Combust” command lingering at the edge of her tongue, Ceony stopped short and croaked, “Emery?”





CHAPTER 15




EMERY’S EYES WIDENED. Stumbling, he shouted, “Cease!”

The vibrating burst spell dropped from the air and hit the floor, harmless.

Ceony felt a thunk as her body suddenly became hers again. The school walls seemed more solid, and her heartbeat, though frantic, was steady.

She flushed and grew gooseflesh at the same time. Her thoughts spun ovals in her mind. “Wh-What are you doing here?” she asked.

Emery’s eyes remained large. He took a step forward. “Ceony—”

“You cut your hair!” she exclaimed.

He paused, eyebrows skewed. “And . . . your hand is on fire.”

Ceony blinked and turned to the flames still burning in her palm. “Cease,” she said, and the fire extinguished, leaving only the faintest trail of smoke behind.

Half a second after the flames dispersed, Emery grabbed Ceony’s upper arm and pulled her into a nearby classroom, shutting the solid-wood door behind them. Three rectangular windows, one of which was unlocked, let in blue-hued twilight. Ceony’s hip bumped against one of the many desks. The chalkboard at the front of the class still bore a half-erased reading assignment from Alfred Lord Tennyson.

“What,” Emery began, but he shook his head and rubbed his temples. Closed his eyes, opened them. “Heavens, I don’t even know where to begin.”

“Then let me,” Ceony said. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same.”

Ceony felt her forehead crease as she narrowed her eyes. “You’re here for Saraj, aren’t you? You tracked him down.”

“A habit of mine,” the paper magician replied, rolling back the sleeves of his coat. They fell back into place at his wrists mere moments later. “I severely doubt you’re in Brackley for a shopping expedition, Ceony! You promised me you wouldn’t—”

“I promised?” Ceony asked. “You promised!”

He opened his mouth to respond, closed it. Pushed fingers back through his short hair, then actually laughed. “I suppose we’re both horrible people.”

Ceony’s shoulders slumped. “I suppose so.”

His eyes met hers. “Is this why you’ve been avoiding my letters, then? To hide . . . this?” He gestured to the classroom.

“No! I haven’t been . . .” she began, but changed to, “Magician Bailey’s been intercepting our messages. I found them earlier today in his office. He had an animated hawk scouting the estate and attacking anything paper and mobile.”

Again Emery raked his fingers back through his hair. A soft chuckle escaped his lips. “Well, that’s a relief.”

“A relief?” Ceony repeated, spine stiffening. “He read them, Emery! He knows about—”

“I hardly care. Prit’s a nose and always has been. I just thought I was clever enough to stay over his head.” Another chuckle. “And here I thought you were having second thoughts.”