The Master Magician

The first thing Ceony sensed was the smell of dust—metallic and rotten and dry. Then she registered the throbbing at the back of her head, the stiffness in her neck, the tight, bruise-like pain encircling her arms and torso. Dim light prodded at her eyelids, and she pulled them apart, blinking. A groan escaped her throat.

She was in a long rectangular room with tall windows draped in long, muslin cloths. Large brown tiles. Two folded hospital beds had been pushed into a corner near a door. Two rows of support pillars cut through the room, and it was to one of these that Ceony had been tied. On first glance, the room appeared to be empty apart from her.

She struggled against her slick bonds, realizing after a few futile attempts that the rotten scent came from them. She studied them in the dim light, their sackcloth-like color, flatness, translucency. Almost like sausage casing.

Bile rose up in Ceony’s throat, and she barely managed to swallow it down. Her sinuses burned from the effort.

Intestines. And they couldn’t be from a pig or cow. Only humans were man-made. Excisioners could do spells with only humans.

Saraj. Ceony lifted her head to search the room, spying the tiny, floating orbs that provided light. About the size of an infant’s fist, each bore a ring that didn’t glow: green, blue, brown. She bit her lip upon realizing they were eyeballs. It took all her willpower and a silent prayer to keep the contents of her stomach down.

The entrails bound her arms tightly to her sides, but Ceony could move her wrist just a little, back and forth. She clawed at her skirt pocket, slipped in a thumb and forefinger . . . but found it empty. The other, too. Her bag, missing.

And she realized one more thing, looking down at her rotting bonds. To tie her up . . . to bring her to the hospital . . . Saraj had touched her.

The thought sprung tears and turned her skeleton to ice. She shivered. Acid clawed at her throat. Oh Lord in heaven, he touched me. I’m dead. I’m dead.

Emery.

She pulled against her bonds. Her breathing quickened as she rescanned the room, searching for the paper magician. Two tears etched trails down her cheeks. Had Saraj killed him? Had he escaped? Emery . . . where was . . .?

She spied him on the other row of columns kitty-corner to her. Saraj had bound him the same way, but he faced the windows. Ceony could see only a sliver of his person. His head drooped forward. Unconscious. Saraj had taken his coat and turned out the pockets of his slacks.

“Emery!” Ceony cried, trying to keep her voice low. “Emery, please wake up!”

The paper magician stirred, and so did the Excisioner.

“The game isn’t fun when you cheat, kitten.” Saraj’s accented voice sounded from Ceony’s right. She strained against the entrails as she watched him enter the room through another door, one that led to a staircase. He’d changed his clothes since Reading; he wore a narrowly tailored gray suit without the jacket. A splatter of crimson stained his shirt where it tucked into his slacks, and another dark stain coated his left knee.

He muttered something under his breath, a spell, and the slick entrails binding Ceony to the pillar shifted, moving her to its right side so that she faced Saraj. He grinned at her and said, “There’s no pleasure in the chase when you come to me.”

Ceony swallowed, searching for the voice trapped somewhere in her shaking body. “I guess y-you’re not used to p-people playing back,” she said, but there was no confidence in it.

“Saraj,” came Emery’s voice—Ceony could see even less of him now—“your fight is with me.”

Saraj laughed. “Oh, no it isn’t. You’ll be discarded in a moment, Thane.”

Ceony writhed against her bonds, her heart hammering. “Saraj, no! Deal with me; leave him out of this!”

“Don’t change the rules, kitten,” Saraj said, holding up a scolding finger. “Now”—he reached into his pocket and pulled out Ceony’s necklace—“tell me your little secret, hm?”

Ceony froze.

“Grath had been so . . . What is the word? Adamant? Adamant about breaking his bond to glass. Obsessed,” Saraj said, strolling between the lines of pillars, fondling the charms on the necklace. “I didn’t know he’d succeeded. Unless you figured out the secret on your own?”

He paused, held the necklace up to his face. “You have some strange things on here. Wood for paper, sand for glass. Oil . . . and a match? So the foundation of the material is part of it. But how?” He lowered the necklace and met Ceony’s eyes. “Tell me how it works, kitten.”

“Ceony!” Emery shouted, but with a wave of Saraj’s hand, Emery’s bonds tightened around him, choking out any ensuing words. Choking out his air.

“Stop it!” Ceony screamed.