The Master Magician

The paper cloud pulled apart, half the pieces soaring one way, half the other, their edges slicing through Saraj’s skin.

Paper cuts. Hundreds and hundreds of deep, slender paper cuts.

The papers drifted to the ground, lined with red.

Saraj drooped in his metal-barred prison, and the glowing eyes turned black.





CHAPTER 16




SILVER-GLEAMING GAFFER torches lined the walkway to the half-renovated hospital, pierced into the soil by both London and Brackley policemen. Two police automobiles blocked the road, and three horses grazed lazily at the hospital lawn while their riders investigated inside. Ceony shivered despite Emery’s coat draped over her shoulders. Emery himself sat on a bench near the walk, where a medic was checking the wound on the back of his head. He had already handed the paper magician a wet rag to press against his shoulder. He’d been hurt, yes, but he was alive. They both were. And Saraj wasn’t coming back—even the most experienced Excisioner couldn’t resurrect himself, no matter how many stolen hearts he’d cached inside his body.

Ceony thought of Anise, not lying prone in her bathtub, but with her pencil clenched between her teeth as she tried to solve a math problem far too complex for Ceony to ever comprehend. Ceony thought of Delilah, not with Grath’s hand clasped around her neck, but smiling at her from across the table at St. Alban’s Salmon Bistro.

Finally, it was finished.

“I have a hard time believing you were simply in the right place at the right time, Thane,” Mg. Hughes said, approaching the bench. Ceony hadn’t seen him arrive. “If you insist on going through all the trouble, you might as well join our ranks. It pays well, as I’ve told you before.”

Emery managed to smile—a weary gesture—at the Siper’s chiding. “Too much paperwork. You know that, Alfred.”

Alfred snorted. “Paperwork. A Folder of all people, complaining about paperwork.”

Mg. Hughes scratched his white mustache and glanced over to Ceony. “Ah, Miss Twill,” he said. “Why am I not surprised to see you here? Third strike, eh? Maybe you’d like to be recruited instead? When is this blasted apprenticeship of yours over?”

Ceony tried to smile as well, but her nerves may have made it into more of a grimace. “Just under two weeks, with luck.”

Mg. Hughes brightened. “Oh? Well, there’s some good news. My well-wishes, of course.”

He turned back to Emery and bent over to get a better look at his wounds. “Once Magician Kilmer gets his hands on you, you’ll be good as new.”

“Magician Kilmer?” Ceony asked.

“A Binder,” Mg. Hughes said. “I normally wouldn’t say, but you’ve met him already.”

Ceony scrunched her eyebrows together. A Binder? “I would remember . . .”

“You’d be dead if you hadn’t,” Mg. Hughes clarified. “He’s one of few, but he happened to be in London the day of the incident with Grath, if you recall.”

Ceony took a moment to process the information, which sent an icy shock down her spine. “You mean . . . the Excisioner, at the hospital?”

“Binder, my dear,” Mg. Hughes corrected her. “There’s a difference.”

Ceony shook her head. “What difference? He may heal instead of hurt, but explain that to the person he killed to earn his magic.”

“He volunteered, actually.”

Ceony spun around to see a tall man standing behind her, his shoulder-length black hair unbound and glimmering in the Gaffer light. He wore a dark suit with a dark shirt underneath, no tie. His was a long face with high cheekbones and deep-set, almond eyes that spoke of Asian lineage.

Mg. Hughes cleared his throat. “Miss Twill, Magician Kilmer. I did mention he was here, didn’t I?”

A flush crept up Ceony’s chest and neck, banishing her chills.

Mg. Kilmer gave her a somber smile, one that moved the lips just enough to be noticeable. Stepping past her, he said, “He suffered from cancer of the bones, and everyone in his family had already passed on before him save for one son. He would have died within days regardless, if it helps your conscience.”

What could Ceony say to that? It didn’t seem right to apologize . . . or to thank him for healing her, for healing Emery now. Despite the man’s judicially anointed abilities, Ceony’s stomach still tightened as he stood over Emery, uttering the same old tongue Saraj had used. His hands glowed with a familiar gold light, and he touched Emery’s shoulder, head, and jaw, erasing his wounds as if they had never existed.

“I need to speak with Magician Aviosky,” Ceony said.

Mg. Hughes leaned toward her. “Hm?”

“I’ve given my statement,” she said. “Could we leave? It’s important.”

Mg. Hughes shrugged. “Be my guest. That’s in Magician Thane’s jurisdiction now.”

She nodded once, then moved to Emery as Mg. Kilmer left. She knelt before him, hands on his knees, not really caring who saw.

“You lied to me,” she whispered.