The Paper Magician

She focused. The paper magician Folded the paper from corner to corner so it made a triangle. The thick parchment held the Fold well. “This is a half-point Fold—any Fold that turns a square into a triangle. And this is a full-point Fold”—he Folded the paper in half again—“any Fold that turns a triangle into a smaller triangle. With none to spare, of course.”


Ceony nodded, watching quietly. He had done these two Folds when making the paper bird yesterday, before turning them into a second square and then the kite. He had her repeat the Folds and say their names, all while emphasizing that the paper’s edges had to be completely aligned for the magic to take. Then his eyes took that faraway look again, becoming not quite as bright as they should have been.

“We’ll start you on animation,” he said, peering out the window again. “It’s a good place to learn the Folds.”

“I can work on this,” Ceony said, “if you need to do something else.”

Though deep in that space of wanting and knowing, she wished he’d stay and teach her.

What a silly thought that was.

Mg. Thane nodded and stood, his long coat rustling about his legs. She felt the disappointment keenly. When he disappeared into the hallway, Fennel poked his head in and trotted right up to Ceony’s hip, where he turned around three times before lying down and sleeping. Ceony had a feeling a dog made of paper couldn’t get tired, though. Must have all been in the enchantment.

She held her half-point and full-point Folds in her hands and stared out the open doorway, wondering after Mg. Thane. A thread of guilt tugged between her ribs as she remembered his working late to create Fennel for her. But surely that couldn’t be the source of his . . . mental absence. And she’d been on her best behavior. Today, at least.

“I ought to make it up to him,” she murmured to Fennel. “After all, any apprentice needs her magician’s favor, or I’ll be here six years instead of two.”

Though her mind knew the Folds, she practiced them until her hands knew them, too, then resigned herself to the kitchen, where she pulled spices and wines out of the cupboards and recited Pip’s Daring Escape under her breath, testing out different voice inflections that might coax the images on page four to life. She set one pot of water on the stove to boil for pasta and washed out last night’s saucepan, setting it on the stove as well. She melted butter and added flour and milk to start a white sauce, something with lemon and garlic to go with the tied-up chicken in the icebox. When she couldn’t find a lemon, she settled on tomato and basil. Everyone liked tomato and basil, and if Mg. Thane kept the ingredients stocked in his house, Ceony could be confident that he liked them as well—and that they were safe to use. Ceony had noted throughout her life that people with one sort of allergy often had others. She’d already started her apprenticeship on the wrong foot; hives would only make the other foot wrong, too.

When the chicken was nearly done, the bread sliced, and the sauce stirred into the penne, Mg. Thane emerged from his study.

“I need to give you more assignments if you have time to do this,” he commented as Ceony peeked into the oven to check on the poultry. “I don’t think this house has smelled this good since I’ve lived in it.”

Ceony stifled a grin at the compliment and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I wanted to thank you, for everything. And apologize, for my behavior yesterday. I wasn’t quite myself.”

“This wasn’t necessary,” he said, his bright eyes curious.

“It will be done in just a minute,” she said, scuttling to the cupboards to locate the green ceramic bowl she had seen earlier. It rested on the highest shelf, so Ceony climbed onto the counter to grab it. “If you want to sit down, I set the table already.”

Mg. Thane smiled, or did something between a smirk and a smile. It touched both eyes and lips. “All right. Thank you. But then I’m assigning you reading material and giving you two hundred sheets of paper to Fold.”

Ceony dumped the pasta into the ceramic bowl and set it on the table first, then carefully transferred the chicken and roasted vegetables to a broad plate—Mg. Thane had no serving trays—and set that in front of Mg. Thane. He said nothing, but the arch of his eyebrows told her he was impressed. At least, Ceony hoped that’s what it meant. It could also have meant that the magician had been saving that chicken for something else, and noted that Ceony had cooked it without permission. If that were the case, hopefully the taste would smooth out any hard feelings.

Ceony sat on her chair on the other side of the square table, then stood up again and asked, “Do you know how to carve a bird?”

“I believe Jonto does.”

Ceony paled. She spied mirth in his eyes. Was that a joke?

Regardless, she picked up a fork and knife and sliced into the chicken herself. Gathering a few teaspoons of courage, she asked, “I was also wondering if my apprenticeship included a stipend of some sort, or a wage.”