The Paper Magician

The corner of his mouth quirked upward. “A fortuity box,” he answered, flipping the contraption around and lifting its triangular flaps. Standing on her toes, Ceony peeked around his arm to see him scrawling symbols, one in each Folded triangle. She recognized the shapes as fortune symbols, the ones drawn on cards at fortune-tellers’ booths during carnivals.

“I’m no fortune-teller,” she said.

“You are now,” he replied, pinching the fortuity box in his fingers. He tilted it back and forth to show Ceony the placement. “Remember that you are much different now than you were an hour ago, Ceony. Before you merely read about magic; now you have it. Denying it won’t make you return to ordinary.”

Ceony nodded, wondering at that.

“Now,” he said, leaning back against the table. “Tell me your mother’s maiden name.”

Ceony knit and reknit her fingers, for telling Mg. Thane her mother’s maiden name could be a very bad thing, should he actually be mad. She had heard of a great many ancient curses that involved names during her studies, and she had been cautioned often about the power of names.

Mg. Thane lifted his eyes from the fortuity box. “You can trust me, Ceony. If you’re worried, be assured I could look up the information and more by requesting your permanent records from Praff.”

“How comforting,” she mumbled, but it tempted a smile from her. “It’s Philinger.”

Mg. Thane opened the fortuity box like a mouth, then split it the other way, moving it once for every letter in Philinger. It was a fairly common last name, so he got the spelling right. “Now, your date of birth.”

She told him, and again he swished the panels of the box back and forth.

“Pick a number.”

“Thirteen.”

“No higher than eight.”

She sighed. “Eight.”

Freeing one hand, Mg. Thane lifted a panel to reveal a symbol Ceony couldn’t see. He waited a moment, his eyes a little unfocused, before saying, “Interesting.”

“What?” Ceony asked, trying to spy around him, but he simply shifted the fortuity box from her line of sight.

“Bad luck to see your own fortune. What are they teaching new apprentices these days?” he asked with a click of his tongue, and Ceony could not tell if he jested, for his eyes were downcast to the box and therefore revealed none of their secrets. “It seems you have a bit of an adventure ahead of you.”

Yes. Living with you ought to be quite an “adventure,” she thought. Enough adventure for anyone. Still, part of her regretted the thought the moment it formed in her brain. Surely this man hadn’t personally offended her in any way . . . yet.

“That’s all it says?” she asked.

“That’s all I saw, at least,” he said, handing her the fortuity box. It made her fingers buzz, her body once again registering the new bond it had made.

“Did you catch that?” Mg. Thane asked.

“What you did?”

“Yes.”

“Yes.” It had been simple enough.

“Well, go on.”

Ceony held the box in her fingers. “What is your mother’s maiden name?”

“Vladara,” he answered. “One r.”

Ceony opened and closed the box as Mg. Thane had done, then flipped it about for his date of birth. She had guessed right—thirty years old, and turning thirty-one next month. Finally, Mg. Thane picked the number three.

“The number three is bad luck,” Ceony said as she lifted the flap.

“Only for Smelters,” he retorted. A subtle reminder that she would never be one, purposeful or not. She chewed on the inside of her cheek in attempts to mask her still-brewing frustration at the fact.

A curling symbol with a wriggling head greeted her—one that was unfamiliar, for if she had seen it before, she would have remembered. Before she could open her mouth to ask for a translation, her vision doubled, and a strange image entered her mind: the silhouette of a woman, but none she knew. Strangely enough, a name pushed itself against her thoughts as well. Was that normal?

She lowered the fortuity box and narrowed her eyes at him. “Who’s Lira?”

Mg. Thane’s expression did not waver, nor did his stance, but for a moment Ceony could have sworn his eyes flickered dark and back. Only . . . no, they weren’t quite as bright as before. Perhaps it was the late-growing sun outside the library window, but she didn’t think so.

He tapped two fingers against his chin. “Interesting.”

“Who is she?”

“An acquaintance,” he said, and he smiled, all in the mouth. “I think you may have a natural talent for this, Ceony, which is a benefit to both of us. Practice with that, and with the storybook—I’d like to see its full illusion by Saturday. In the meantime, why don’t you unpack your bags?”

Mg. Thane said nothing more on the subject of the fortuity box. Instead, he walked to the door and poked his head out into the hall, shouting, “Breathe!” He waited a beat, and then called, “Jonto, would you come up here and help with this mess?”

Ceony set the fortuity box on the table, wondering if Mg. Thane’s “mess” referred to the snowflakes, or to her.





CHAPTER 3