The Master Magician

THIRTEEN DAYS AFTER her battle with Saraj and twelve days after her confession to Mg. Aviosky, Ceony stood in a short corridor in the Ministry of Licensing, in the wing devoted to the use of magic. She had at her side a giant tweed bag purchased to hold all fifty-eight of her handcrafted spells based off the list Mg. Bailey had given her. She had received no further instructions save that she was to bring the spells with her to the ministry. She wondered if they would be examined by a group of Folders for skill, or perhaps by other magicians who would judge her creativity. Perhaps it was merely a test of whether or not she had been able to complete the list. She might have to debate her reasoning for each spell. Emery had never encouraged her to study debate.

She squeezed the handle of the bag, trying to ignore the moistness of her hands.

A small, golden bell hanging over an unmarked door in the hallway rang—her signal that it was time to begin. With a deep breath, Ceony hefted her tweed bag and approached the door, turned the handle, and—

She paused when the doorknob stuck. She twisted it again, back and forth, but it didn’t budge. The door was locked.

She glanced up at the bell and felt a flush creep up her neck. Swallowing against a dry throat, she lifted her hand and gently rapped on the door.

Nothing happened. No voices or noises of any sort came from within, though Ceony knew both Mg. Aviosky and Mg. Bailey were inside. She’d seen them enter herself. She rapped again, only to be met with silence. She twisted the doorknob. Locked.

Then it dawned on her. Though Mg. Bailey’s list was stowed in her skirt pocket, she easily remembered the first item on it: Something to open a door. Was this part of the test, then?

Ceony fished through her bag for the skeletal arm she’d crafted and held it to the doorknob, only to freeze when the paper fingers were a centimeter away.

“Something to open a locked door, Mg. Bailey?” she asked, blood draining from her face. Despite her flawless memory, Ceony dug the list out of her pocket and reread the first task: #1. Something to open a door. It said nothing about it being locked. Had the Folder purposely left off such a critical element for the sake of revenge on Emery?

Her breath quickened. She stared at the doorknob. Surely she wouldn’t fail her test before it even started!

“Breathe,” she told the arm, and she held it to the doorknob, but the lock was nothing magical and her spell couldn’t open it. She pulled the arm away, the fingers of its hands wriggling like an overturned beetle’s legs.

Tears welled in her eyes. Surely if she showed them the list . . . but they wouldn’t even talk to her through the door. Would she really have to walk back down the corridor in shame, her bag of paper spells in tow? She had no other spells to Fold . . . nothing that would open this bloody door!

Ceony grit her teeth. No, she wouldn’t fail, not after everything she’d been through. She would pass her magician’s test. She would be a Folder. She would see that smug look wiped off Mg. Bailey’s face when she opened this door if she had to break it down herself—

She paused, studying the door. It had no locks besides the one in the knob. For a moment she was tempted to become a Smelter so she could use an unlocking spell, but she’d left her necklace with Mg. Aviosky. And it would be cheating anyway. Ceony Twill was no cheat.

A simple lock. She could get past a simple lock; her old friend Anise Hatter had done it once at their junior academy when the principal ordered no desserts were to be served at lunch after discovering graffiti on his office window. Anise had broken into the cafeteria, and she and Ceony had eaten two pieces of cake each.

Stepping back, Ceony began dismantling her enchanted arm, which broke the animation spell on its bones. She pulled a thin, rectangular piece of paper from below the wrist and, with a “Stiffen” command, wedged it between the door and the doorjamb. She shimmied the paper down until it hit the knob’s latch. Sawing the paper back and forth, she wriggled it under the latch and, with a clipped sigh of relief, pushed the door open.

Bright afternoon sunlight poured through window blinds, illuminating the rectangular room, which measured smaller than Ceony had imagined. It had unpolished wooden floorboards and sand-colored walls, undecorated save for a large, clean chalkboard on the wall with the door. The only furniture in the room was the long table across from the chalkboard, behind which sat Mg. Bailey, Mg. Aviosky, and two men Ceony didn’t know.

Mg. Aviosky stood and gestured to the two men. “Miss Twill, this is Magician Reed, the headmaster of the Tagis Praff School for the Magically Inclined. He is a Polymaker.”