CHAPTER 6
CEONY SAT IN A chair in the corner of the South London police station, thumbing the wet remnants of Fennel, who had been in her bag when the buggy hit the river. Emery had assured her that the dog could be repaired. At the moment, though, the paper magician was speaking to a local detective and Mg. Juliet Cantrell of Criminal Affairs behind a locked door, and Ceony sat alone in the empty police station, cradling the soggy remnants of her dog in her lap.
She stifled a yawn, and a hiccup, thanks to the small dose of cognac Mg. Cantrell had given her to calm her nerves. The cherrywood cuckoo clock on the back wall struck thirty minutes past midnight.
Ceony turned her gaze to the door Emery had disappeared behind nearly an hour ago. He had been involved with law enforcement on a deeper level for years, Ceony knew, but she still wished she could hear the discussion. Emery had seemed rather adamant that she wait out here. Was he trying to protect her, or did he simply not trust her?
She had been as useful as a sack of weevil-eaten flour when the buggy went over the riverbank. Had she been alone, she would be dead in the water, floating alongside the driver, whose name she didn’t even know.
The driver. The crash blurred in her memory, but she remembered his gruesome death clearly. A simple swipe of another’s hand, and he had died. An Excision spell; Ceony had no other explanation for it.
The door opened. Ceony perked up, but only the detective emerged, holding an unmarked, yellow folder full of papers. From a glance, she could tell the folder had a “no-eyes” lock on it—it would only open when given a specific command, though that command did not necessarily need to come from a magician. Emery had taught her about that spell just last week.
The detective glanced around, set one paper on an unoccupied desk, and then crossed the room toward Ceony. He pulled up a chair and sat across from her, their knees just two feet apart. He held an expensive pen with a tiny Smelting seal on its end—a seal that would light up when the pen was about to run out of ink. Ceony had used similar pens during her schooling at Tagis Praff.
He set a ledger printed with the seal of Criminal Affairs on his lap.
Criminal Affairs, though strictly a branch of the Magicians’ Cabinet, worked closely with all of England’s law enforcement both domestically and abroad. A few magicians even worked with detective agencies that weren’t associated with Criminal Affairs. Ceony assumed involvement with the Magicians’ Cabinet got overly political, so she couldn’t blame them.
Ceony took a long look at the detective before her, his coffee-stained shirt and what looked like a Smelted gun in a holster over his shoulder. Smelters often operated alongside law enforcement; had Ceony become a Smelter like she’d originally planned, she might have been here under a different capacity.
The detective frowned. “Do you need a blanket, Miss Twill?”
Ceony shook her head, though her wet waistband had begun to itch. “I’m fine, thank you.”
“I’m sorry to make you repeat yourself,” the detective apologized, “but could you recount your story once more? Give me as many details as you can remember.”
Chewing on her bottom lip, Ceony nodded. She recounted the accident as best she could, trying to keep her voice smooth, though that proved difficult when she spoke of the driver’s fate. She couldn’t recount more than the beginning and the end of the story—once the buggy hit the water, her mind had just stopped working.
Useless.
The detective asked her a few more questions, then thanked her and stood, returning his chair to the desk he had borrowed it from. A few moments later, he disappeared back into the closed room where Mg. Cantrell and Emery were still talking.
The front door to the police station opened, and in walked Mg. Aviosky, a very exhausted-looking Delilah, and Mg. Hughes, a Siper—rubber magician—whom Ceony had formally met after Emery’s brush with death three months ago. Mg. Hughes sat on the Magicians’ Cabinet for Criminal Affairs, and Ceony knew from the third chamber of Emery’s heart that he was the one who’d involved Emery in hunting Excisioners in the first place.
Ceony stood and set Fennel and the rest of her soaked belongings down on her chair.
Mg. Aviosky reached her first and seized her shoulders, taking a moment to look her up and down. “You have a knack for getting into danger, Miss Twill,” she said with a click of her tongue, followed by a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness you’re well.” Her face paled. “Magician Thane?”
“He’s fine, just a bump on his head,” Ceony said. She hadn’t noticed the injury—and the dried blood coming down from Emery’s hairline—until they had reached the police station.
She was completely and utterly useless.
“He’s talking with Magician Cantrell,” she finished, gesturing to the closed door across the room. She had met Mg. Cantrell—a Smelter—only briefly. She had seemed far more interested in Emery’s account of the accident than in Ceony’s.
Delilah pushed forward and gave Ceony a tight hug, but spared her the double kiss. “Oh, Ceony, I’m so sorry. How dreadful this must be.”
“I’m all right,” Ceony said, though she felt less than confident in her answer. She felt tired, frightened, worried, relieved, anxious—did “all right” fit with any of those?
“You’ve filed your reports?” Mg. Hughes asked. He sounded gruffer than Ceony remembered, but that could have been due to the late hour.
She nodded.
Mg. Hughes frowned and rubbed his trimmed white beard with his thumb and forefinger. “A knack for danger is something of an understatement. This is the third incident you’ve been involved in this week.”
“Third?” Mg. Aviosky repeated, eyes bugging behind her thin glasses.
Mg. Hughes nodded. “I received a report yesterday evening concerning the reappearance of Grath Cobalt. Seems he’s back in town, and he paid Miss Twill a personal visit.”
Delilah gripped Ceony’s arm to her chest and shuddered.
Mg. Aviosky’s skin paled. “But he left England!”
“So we thought,” Mg. Hughes said. “But he’s come back for this one.”
“No, he’s come back for Lira,” Ceony interjected, adjusting her damp shirt with her free arm. The towel she had been given upon her arrival had already soaked through and now hung off the back of her chair. “He thinks I have the secret to restoring her.”
But Ceony barely understood how she defeated Lira in the first place. They had fought outside the cave. In a struggle for Lira’s knife, Ceony had sliced open the woman’s eye . . . and in a moment that her memory could still not piece together, Ceony had written Lira froze on a piece of damp paper. Written as she would a story illusion. Only Lira’s frozen state was no illusion.
“Seems he didn’t like your response,” Mg. Hughes said, intrigued.
“No,” said a tired baritone behind them—Ceony recognized the voice as Emery’s. “This wasn’t Grath.”
They all turned toward Emery. Mg. Cantrell, who had also emerged from the office, was busily writing something in a ledger at a nearby desk. Delilah’s grip on Ceony’s arm tightened even more.
“Ceony agrees with me on that much,” Emery said, giving Ceony a sympathetic look. She felt a surge of relief that the paper magician wasn’t angry with her for making a bad situation worse—or, at least, he didn’t seem to be. “I don’t know for sure. I had a poor vantage point and it was dark, but I suspect that Saraj Prendi might still be in cahoots with Grath.”
Mg. Hughes frowned. “We haven’t heard high or low on Prendi for nearly three years.”
“I imagine you have,” Emery said, “you just didn’t know it was him.”
Mg. Hughes scoffed, but he didn’t debate the point.
“Who is Saraj?” asked Delilah.
Mg. Hughes sighed. “Perhaps you should take your apprentice to another room, Patrice.”
“Please let her stay,” Ceony said. “She should know, too. She was almost part of it.”
Delilah’s mouth dropped, but she kept her wits about her enough not to ask how for the time being.
Mg. Aviosky nodded, and Mg. Hughes shrugged.
“Saraj Prendi is an Excisioner who hails from India,” the Siper said. “At least, his lineage is Indian. We don’t have enough details on his history to confirm his place of birth. But we do have a solid criminal profile on him.”
Gooseflesh prickled Ceony’s arms.
“Which is?” Mg. Aviosky asked.
“He’s unpredictable,” Mg. Hughes said. “Sometimes he does solo jobs; sometimes he works with large groups of Excisioners, such as the one Grath Cobalt used to lead, until our sting operation in 1901 disbanded it. Two things we do know are that Saraj Prendi likes to show off, and he has a distinct lack of conscience.”
“Show off,” Ceony said, “like with explosions.”
“Perhaps,” Mg. Hughes said, “but we have no evidence to link him to the paper mill. In fact, we have nothing to tie the mill to these other events save for you, Miss Twill.”
Ceony thought of the Indian man she had seen in the crowd outside the mill after the explosion, thought of the strange feeling of being watched that had prickled her skin that day. She shuddered.
“I think it was him,” she whispered. “I think . . . I think I saw him, outside the mill. Dark skin, dark eyes . . . thin, with a half beard, right? I think he was there.”
Emery’s brows drew together, making his forehead crease. His eyes glimmered in a way that reminded Ceony of the heat that rose from sunbaked cobblestone streets.
Ceony’s body itched under her clothes. What if Saraj had gotten close enough to touch her? What if one simple gesture on that road had sent her blood flying, too?
“Well,” Mg. Hughes said, sounding quite sober, “if that’s the case—”
Ceony shook her head hard enough that Delilah, who was still clinging to her, stumbled. “But they can’t be working together! Grath wanted me to cooperate with him. He wants to hear what happened at Foulness Island from my lips. If he kills me, he won’t get his answers. Even if this other man is Saraj Prendi, he couldn’t possibly be working with Grath. Grath wants me alive, and I think it’s fairly obvious that Saraj does not.”
“Very astute,” Emery commented darkly.
Mg. Aviosky nodded. “A good point, if an uneasy one.”
Mg. Hughes returned to rubbing his beard. “And yet they both seem fixated on Ceony. I can think of no motivation for Saraj outside of Grath’s direction, unless they’ve become cross with one another. But if I recall correctly”—he glanced to Emery—“Saraj greatly disliked Lira. I highly doubt her well-being would be any motivating factor of his.”
Emery nodded.
“So, if they are working together,” Mg. Hughes said, “they have different agendas. Methinks there’s a great deal of miscommunication going on between our suspects.”
“And a great deal of speculation is going on in this room,” Emery said, pushing between Mg. Hughes and Mg. Aviosky to reach Ceony. He rested a hand on her shoulder, which immediately earned him a frown from Mg. Aviosky. “And this is all the speculation we can manage for one night. Ceony and I need to find somewhere to stay in the city until this can be sorted out.”
“I’ve already made arrangements,” Mg. Aviosky said, though that frown still tugged on the corners of her lips, as though a string tied her mouth directly to Emery’s resting fingers. “There’s a flat not far from my home that you can lease for the time being. It’s in a well-populated area. I have a driver waiting to take you there.”
“Thank you,” Emery said. “I appreciate it.”
Mg. Hughes stayed behind to discuss Mg. Cantrell’s findings while Ceony and Emery followed Mg. Aviosky and Delilah out to the street, which was illuminated by tall lamps glowing with enchanted fire encased in glass that wouldn’t snuff it out. Mg. Aviosky’s buggy seated eight and had glass that covered every window. Mg. Aviosky used a spell to tint the back windows black, concealing the automobile’s passengers in the dark of night.
Big Ben chimed one in the morning when the automobile pulled up to a twelve-story brick building four blocks from Parliament Square. Ceony and Emery’s temporary flat was located on the top floor, and it consisted of a long living room, a large bedroom, a narrow kitchen and vanity room, and a bathroom.
Emery headed straight for the sofa in the living room. His footsteps reverberated along the wooden flooring until he stepped onto an old country rug, which muted the sound.
“Ceony,” Mg. Aviosky said before Ceony could step through the doorway. Delilah remained outside in the car, leaving Ceony and her former mentor alone. “I think it would be best for you to go abroad for the time being, since these incidents seem to center around you. I know a paper magician in Kingsland, Wales, who could take you on, so as to minimize the interruption—”
“No!” Ceony said, a bit too quickly. “I’d like to stay with Emery. Magician Thane, I mean.”
Mg. Aviosky’s eyebrows knit together, and Ceony cursed herself for using Emery’s first name in front of her. An apprentice never called a magician by his or her first name. Such a thing wasn’t proper.
“I mean, I think it would be a greater hindrance for everyone involved for me to try and move now,” Ceony amended. “If I have the option, I would prefer to stay in London.”
Mg. Aviosky’s look of disapproval was unmistakable. A curt nod made Ceony’s stomach clench.
“Take care of yourself, Miss Twill,” Mg. Aviosky said, stepping back into the hallway. “I’ll be checking in on you soon.”
Sunlight from the wide square window near the bed woke Ceony, and despite the late hour at which she had turned in for the night, she couldn’t coax her body to sleep more. Too many thoughts ran through her mind. Why would another Excisioner want to hurt her? Where was Grath, and what would his next move be? How long would this new flat be safe?
And what did Mg. Aviosky think of her? And Emery?
She pulled herself from bed, wearing only her under-things and a chemise. She never slept so scandalously, especially with a man in the adjoining room, but all her clothes had been soaked last night, so her choice had been between sleeping in damp under-things or nothing at all, which would have been especially humiliating had she needed to vacate the room quickly.
She flushed, the pinkness visible on her chest and arms, and hurried to her closet, where she had hung her clothes to dry. The second set she had packed seemed wearable. The first would need to be washed, as they bore mud stains from the riverbank and had dried stiff.
She changed with haste and brushed out her hair, but didn’t bother with makeup. Not today. She didn’t think kohl and rouge would do her any good, and her cosmetics probably needed to dry out, too.
When she opened the bedroom door, she found the living room bathed in bright sunlight, thanks to its east-facing window. The lavender sofa was empty save for a folded blanket perfectly aligned with the rightmost cushion. Emery sat at a tall, walnut-stained desk against the wall. He had hung his indigo coat by the door and wore the simple white button-up shirt and gray slacks he had donned the day before.
He Folded Fennel’s front left leg.
“Emery!” Ceony exclaimed, running to him. He had a stack of clean, white paper—where had he gotten that?—next to him, as well as Fennel, almost fully formed now. The paper forming his ears and part of his torso was slightly wrinkled, damaged from the river.
“When did you have time to do this?” she asked, ogling his handiwork and the circles under his eyes. “You never went to bed. You pretended to go to bed and did this instead!”
Emery smiled. “I had a lot to think about. I didn’t mind.”
“You’re insufferable,” she mumbled, tears burning the corners of her eyes. She touched Fennel’s new muzzle, splayed sideways on the desk. A little more work and he would be able to reanimate. “You need to rest,” she added, a little quieter.
Emery leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms out in a wide V. “A nap would be nice. What time is it?”
Ceony frowned. Had Emery really suffered a bout of insomnia, or had he done this for her?
“It’s seven thirty,” she said. “Thank you. It means a lot to me.”
His eyes smiled at her.
“I’ll make you breakfast,” Ceony declared, taking one step toward the kitchen. She paused. “We have no food.”
Emery rubbed his chin. “I believe you are correct, unless Patrice took time to stock the cupboards before we arrived. Given the short notice, I consider that highly unlikely.”
He glanced back to his work. “Give me a few more minutes here and we can pick up some provisions.”
Ceony reached for his face—watching those tired eyes—but retracted her hand, thinking better of it. She remembered again the look Mg. Aviosky had given her.
“You should rest first,” she said instead.
“I’d rather not,” Emery confessed. “I’d like to stay alert. And hidden, but I know of no businesses that deliver groceries, and while I saw a telegraph in the lobby downstairs, I wouldn’t know how to contact them, besides.”
Ceony excused herself to write up a grocery list, which included soap for their filthy clothes. She stashed extra paper in her bag in case of an emergency and left the room. Emery had finished Fennel, but he left him unanimated on the desk. He pulled on his indigo coat and led the way out the door. Other early risers sparsely dusted the street outside.
“I suppose we should go to the west end of Parliament Square for these things,” Emery said as he looked over Ceony’s list. “It’s always crowded there, which will be to our benefit.”
He sighed and handed the list back to Ceony. “What a bother. This place is like a bad cold.”
“Congested and tiring?”
Emery’s eyes shimmered with amusement. “Precisely. I like how you think, Ceony.”
Ceony permitted herself to bask in the compliment for as long as it took them to reach the market, which, thanks to the location of the complex where they were staying, was only about ten minutes away. Long lines of vendors sold goods from stands clustered at the far west end of Parliament Square, most of them local farmers. The stands formed two narrow streets, which were already crowded with customers weighing tomatoes and holding beaded jewelry up to the spare sunlight. A few pigeons had gathered at the corners of the market to peck for crumbs, and Big Ben chimed the hour behind them.
As Ceony examined a small wheel of cheese at a dairy stand painted bright green, she said, “I am expecting an extension on my homework in light of everything.”
“Absolutely not.”
Ceony put the cheese in her cloth bag while Emery paid the vendor. “Why not?”
“Magicians must constantly work under pressure,” Emery said matter-of-factly, “and so must you. Perhaps one more attempt on your life will make me reconsider, but until then, lessons and assignments will proceed as normal.” He paused. “Though I suspect you left the paper doll behind, hmm? I’ll think of some other sort of busywork.”
Ceony frowned.
She approached a wide vegetable stand draped in a turquoise cloth edged with bobbin lace. A few departing patrons bumped into her as she squeezed by; the narrow street in combination with the narrow storefronts offered little in the way of personal space. Despite herself, her stomach churned uneasily, as if it were full of cream that couldn’t quite make itself into butter. She picked up a red bell pepper and examined it without really seeing it.
When Emery came closer, she said, “I really am sorry about last night. I understand if you’re upset.”
He glanced at her, genuine surprise in his emerald irises. “You’re hardly the one who crashed the car, Ceony,” he said in a low voice.
Ceony set the pepper down. “I know. It’s not that, I just . . .”
She released a long breath and stepped back from the stand, moving away from the bulk of the crowd. “It’s just that I was about as useful as that half-cut paper doll in my bedroom. I know you expect more of me.”
Emery nodded, though his eyes looked sympathetic. Ceony waited for a moment before moving on to the next stand, where she grabbed a small bundle of carrots and some thyme.
Once they returned to the center of the road, having navigated around two men who’d had the audacity to bring their horses into the crowded market, Emery said, “I understand why you’d think that, Ceony, but I don’t hold any malice toward you. Certainly you know that.”
She just nodded.
“We all have our fears,” he said, placing a hand on her back to guide her around a gaggle of gossiping women. His touch felt light, but warm, and welcome. “You understand mine; it’s only fair that I try and understand yours.”
She glanced back at him, surprised. “I . . . thank you.”
He rubbed his eyes, which had finally grown heavy with fatigue. “Let’s see . . . list. Rhubarb is over here, I think.”
“Rhubarb isn’t on the—”
“And we’ll need flour if you’re making that pie tonight,” he continued, pointing to a wide stand showcasing various types of produce. Ceony had thought the season for rhubarb was over, but these farmers had some of the red stalks in their wares.
She smiled. “In that case, I’ll also need eggs and butter. I only brought one bag, but I’m sure there’s space in that coat of yours.”
“The gray one has more pockets.”
Ceony selected a few stalks of rhubarb, wondering if the kitchen in their temporary home was stocked with any pie tins, when a familiar, uneasy feeling settled over her skin—the same prickling sensation she’d experienced at the paper mill in Dartford.
She froze for a moment, but Emery’s hand found her back again, and he pushed her farther down the road.
“Look ahead,” he murmured. “I believe we’re being followed. Let’s loop around to check, hmm?”
The hair on Ceony’s arms stood on end, but she nodded and focused on looking straight ahead. Her pulse quickened, pushing against her neck, and she couldn’t tell whether it was from fear or Emery’s fingers pressing into her shoulder blades. She groaned inwardly. How enamored could one woman be?
They turned left through the stands, passing tables of beads and leather goods, and then moved back behind the produce sellers until they once again reached the man with the red peppers. Ceony picked up the closest one to purchase, hoping to make their movements look as natural as possible. Emery flowed right with the act, paying the seller and thanking him for his trouble.
They began walking again, weaving through other customers. Emery reached into his coat and pulled out a roll of paper, which he began to roll even tighter around his pinky finger.
Before long, he had formed a paper telescope.
Ceony glanced at his sleeves. “How much stuff do you keep in there?”
Emery just smiled, then pulled Ceony behind a used-book shop. Peering around the corner of the building, Emery extended the telescope’s length and said, “Zoom.” He searched the street for a few long seconds before shortening the telescope and returning it to his coat.
“Quite the bold man, that one.”
“Grath?” Ceony asked. She wondered how badly he had been burned by her Burst spell.
“No, Saraj. At least, I think that’s him. He’s wearing a hood, and he’s alone.”
“Let me see.”
Emery hesitated.
She held out her hand, waiting, and the paper magician reluctantly handed her the telescope, which still held its Magnification spell. It took Ceony a moment, but then her telescope landed on a fairly tall man—shorter than Grath, she supposed—a ways down the road, wearing a jacket much too warm for the climate, its unfashionable hood pulled up and over his face. It could have been the shadows, but he resembled the man she had seen near the mill and after the buggy accident. She couldn’t get a clear look at his face, however.
Ceony lowered the telescope and ducked back around the corner of the bookstore. Her skin prickled even more—perhaps that was the body’s natural reaction to an Excisioner’s gaze.
Emery took the telescope back from her. “I want you to circle around this shop and head toward the bank. Don’t stop for anything. Go to the flat’s back entrance, understand?”
Tingles like electricity ran up Ceony’s sides and into her skull. She grabbed Emery’s forearm. “Please don’t,” she whispered, pleaded. “Please, please don’t go after him now. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“I know what I’m doing,” Emery said.
And that’s why you haven’t caught him yet, because you know what you’re doing? Ceony wanted to say, but she kept the thought to herself.
Another phrase came to mind. “Let me come with you.”
He frowned. “Absolutely not.”
“Don’t you trust me?”
Fine lines creased Emery’s brow. He glanced back around the bookstore before saying, “This is not a matter of trust.”
Isn’t it? But Ceony knew when she couldn’t win an argument. Instead, she tried another tack.
“I’ll be left alone,” she said. A pregnant woman passed them, and Ceony held her tongue until the woman was out of earshot. “And I’m the one’s he’s after, right?”
Emery pressed his lips into a thin line. He glanced back around the corner of the bookstore—only a glance—and nodded. “All right. We’ll take a long route home, however. Find a place where we can telegraph his location to the police. I don’t want him spying any of my spells.”
Ceony nodded and forced herself to release her crab-claw grip on Emery’s forearm. She must have been squeezing harder than she realized, because Emery rubbed the spot when she released him.
They took a very, very long route home, so long that Ceony’s feet and hips hurt by the time they reached the complex.
Ceony couldn’t help but feel like they’d been walking on eggshells.