The Paper Magician

Was Mg. Thane personally policing the dark-magic ring? And what “keen interest” did Mg. Hughes refer to?

The floorboards shifted again, and someone blocked the light coming through the keyhole. Ceony held her breath, but the door didn’t open. Instead someone leaned against it, which made the talk in the dining room that much fainter.

“Sounds like she plans on leaving England,” Mg. Katter said, so muffled Ceony could barely tell one word from the next. “Perhaps Europe altogether.”

“So what do we do?” asked Mg. Aviosky, the one against the door.

“Document it,” Mg. Hughes said slowly. “Gather what evidence we can, sketches and the like. Find any blood on the floor that Lira might have used.”

“Go after her?” asked Mg. Katter.

“It has to go through the Cabinet,” Mg. Hughes replied, sounding exasperated. “We have to get approval, sanction off this house, assign a force.”

Ceony clutched her skirt in her fists. Approval? Lira would be long gone by then!

“She’ll be out of reach by then,” said Mg. Aviosky, as if she had heard Ceony’s thoughts and agreed with them.

“You must understand, Patrice, that Excisioners are a tricky matter,” Mg. Hughes explained. “They are wildly dangerous, and if they touch you, they can pull magic through your body. It is a killing magic. One cannot merely race in and capture them. And if she disappeared in a blood cloud as Miss Twill stated, she could be anywhere within a thirty-mile radius by now.”

A moment of silence made Ceony aware of her pulse drumming in her ears. Her face felt hot, and her eyes stung. Would they really let this woman get away?

“What of Emery Thane?” Mg. Aviosky asked, almost too soft to hear.

Another long pause before Mg. Hughes said, “We make him as comfortable as we can.”

No! Ceony’s mind screamed, and she clamped both hands over her mouth to keep herself from shouting. How could they? How could they let him die?

Ceony shivered. Standing, knees creaking, she tiptoed her way up the stairs, unable to bear any more words from the Cabinet. At the top of the stairs her tears started anew, only these ones felt very cold.

He was going to die. Magician Emery Thane was going to die, and without his own heart in his chest. It seemed so very wrong.

Soft padding announced Fennel coming down the hallway. He paused and stretched as a real dog would, then scratched at the turquoise collar around his neck.

Ceony scooped him up in her arms and held him delicately to her chest, careful not to cry on him.

So very wrong.

She paused at her room, but rather than go in, she continued walking until she reached Mg. Thane’s. Cradling Fennel in one arm, she pushed the door open, lit a candle on the dresser, and took a look.

It was all as she had left it, minus the laundry on the bed. Feeling a chill, Ceony hugged Fennel closer and walked past the dresser, the bookshelves, the window with its darkening light. She paused by the closet and hamper and absently sifted through Mg. Thane’s clothes, some of which had been in her washbasin just days ago. In the back of the closet she found Mg. Thane’s white dress uniform—white, as that was the color that represented paper. The double-breasted jacket, gold-polished buttons, and thick cuffs all looked new and neat, as though the uniform had never been worn. Ceony couldn’t help but think that Mg. Thane would look rather dashing in it. A good thing he had not worn it at their meeting yesterday, or Ceony may have found herself tongue-tied and very flustered.

She frowned. A pointless thing to think.

She pulled away from the closet. Fennel wriggled in her grasp. She set him down and dug her cold hands into her skirt’s pockets. Something brushed the knuckle on her right hand.

From her pocket she pulled a tiny snowflake, the one she had stowed there after her first day as a Folder. She rubbed her thumb over its tiny, delicate cuts, grateful she hadn’t yet washed this particular skirt. The snowflake still felt frosty, just like real snow. Snow he had made for her. All of it had been for her in one way or another, hadn’t it?

In the glow of the candlelight she said, “I have to do it. I have to save him.”

For she knew no one else would.

Biting her lip, Ceony hurried from the room, protecting the light of the candle with her hand as she went, quietly calling Fennel to follow. She went across the hall to the library and set the light down on the table under the window. Sitting down, she grasped a green square of paper of medium thickness and began Folding, leaning on her memory until she made a bird. The Folds hummed beneath her fingers.

Taking a pink piece of lightweight paper, she Folded another, then another with white. She imagined Mg. Thane’s hands over her own, guiding her Folds, and squinted in the candlelight to ensure all her edges aligned and all her creases were straight.