CHAPTER 7
CEONY MADE A SIMPLE stew for dinner that night, cooking and seasoning with care to make it taste as good as she could manage with their limited supplies. Mg. Aviosky had stopped by earlier to bring them some extra groceries, as well as some ledgers from Mg. Hughes for Emery. Emery had been absorbed in the books ever since.
He ate at the desk, and Ceony took her own supper into the bedroom, where Fennel yipped until she let him smell the bowl. Being made of paper, Fennel couldn’t eat the stew, but Emery had crafted him with the doglike mannerisms anyway. For a man allergic to canines, he certainly knew them well.
Ceony read to the thirteenth chapter in her origami textbook, storing the words to memory as she went, rereading important passages or anything Emery had highlighted to ensure the knowledge stuck. She fingered the barrette in her hair—the one Emery had made her—as she studied. She hoped they would return to the cottage soon. She had grown rather fond of the place, cluttered though it was. Nothing spectacular had happened after the trip to the market that morning, so perhaps they would head back soon. Ceony knew it wouldn’t happen, not until there was some resolution to this situation, but she could hope, at least.
She washed her clothes and Emery’s, using a Fan spell to help dry them, then bathed and got ready for bed. She peeked out the closed curtains over her bedroom window before settling in for the night. The city lights provided only scant illumination, however, and the night hid the street from her, save for the occasional passing of a buggy’s headlamps smearing over the cobblestones like butter over hot bread.
Ceony sighed. She hated being stuck like this, waiting for enemies to make their moves. At least with Lira she had been able to take matters into her own hands, more or less. Even trapped inside Emery’s heart, she could always move forward, make progress. Here, the tall buildings and clustered streets of the city had her trapped like a mouse in a maze, without even the possible reward of cheese. Perhaps that was why Emery hated the city so much.
She turned off her lamp, but noticed dim light streaming in from under her door. She went to the living room, where Emery sat on the end of the couch, reading over yet another ledger.
She watched him a moment, his focus, the slouch to his shoulders, the way the electric light gleamed off the waves of his hair. She had thought Magician Emery Thane very common looking, once. How silly she had been.
A minute passed before Emery sensed her and looked up from his work.
“You’ll turn to mush if you don’t get some rest,” Ceony warned, spying his dinner bowl on the desk. She crossed the room to fetch it; how unlike him to be untidy, even on this small a scale. Those ledgers had to be incredibly absorbing. And that worried her.
“I’ll turn in soon,” he said.
“Hmm,” Ceony hummed, doubting him. She’d have to start drugging him with poppy seeds and chamomile just to get him on a half-normal sleep schedule. What would the man do without an apprentice to look after him?
She headed for the kitchen, but Emery stopped her. “Ceony,” he said.
She glanced back. Emery remained on the couch, but he’d extended his left hand to her.
Ceony assumed he wanted his bowl back, for whatever reason, but when she held it out to him, he reached past the dish to her wrist and gently tugged her onto the couch beside him.
Shivers ran over her skin like hundreds of ants. Ceony opened her mouth in question, but Emery merely put his arm around her shoulders and continued to read his ledger, the pages of which had been crammed margin to margin with tiny, cramped handwriting not nearly as refined as his own.
The shivers fled, and just like they always did when he was near, her cheeks and chest blushed at his closeness. After a moment she permitted herself to relax. Sitting against him, and without the indigo coat between them, it surprised Ceony how warm Emery felt, like a campfire crackled beneath his skin. Not feverishly warm, just . . . comfortable.
She laid her head against him as she had in the car, and his fingers curled around her shoulder. Her pulse raced, and she could hear his heart through his shoulder. It was beating steadily, but perhaps a bit more quickly than normal. After all, she knew Emery’s heartbeat almost as well as her own.
He smelled like soap and brown sugar. She glanced up at the stubble beginning to grow on his face, heavier close to his long sideburns and finer as it neared his lips. She studied his lips for a moment, their shape, their smoothness. She dropped her gaze before she could flush too deeply.
Her pulse gradually slowed as she let herself absorb the moment, the perfectness of it all, until her thoughts lulled her into warm, equally perfect dreams.
Ceony awoke the next morning to Fennel tugging on her messy braid. She stared at her surroundings—the desk, the ceiling, the window—in confusion for a moment before registering where she lay. The flat in the city: the living room. She lay on her side on the sofa, her legs curled up and her right foot asleep. A tan blanket was draped over her.
She bolted up, knocking Fennel to the floor. The dog yapped in protest, but shook his head and took to sniffing about the baseboards.
Ceony saw no sign of Emery, but there was a piece of paper bearing his beautiful script on the chair of the desk, which had been turned to face her.
Blinking sleep from her eyes, she read:
I’ve gone to Magician Hughes’s home in Lambeth (47 Wickham Street) to discuss some matters of importance. I’ve warded the flat, so I beg you to stay inside its confines until I return. I’ve left a Mimic spell as well, in case you need to contact me.
Ceony lowered the note and looked at the desk. Sure enough, there was a torn piece of paper with the word “Mimic” written across the top of it.
I should only be a couple of hours, and Patrice is close by in case of an emergency.
In the meantime, you’ll find some paper in the desk’s top drawer and instructions for making a shrinking chain (inanimate objects only, I’m afraid). I’d like to see twenty-one links completed when I return. Threats on your well-being are poor excuses for missing homework!
He drew a happy face after that—two dots and a curving line—and signed his name.
Ceony sighed and set the note down, then retrieved the instructions for the shrinking chain. While Emery had flawless penmanship and could form perfect Folds with his eyes closed, those were the extent of his artistic abilities. Ceony turned his sloppy diagrams of the steps for making the chain this way and that, trying to make sense of them. She had a fair idea how to make and connect the links, but she would have to fiddle with them herself to determine if she had interpreted the instructions correctly.
Locating a charcoal pencil, she wrote on the Mimic spell, And surely you don’t mind my practicing on your things, correct?
Avoid using my clothing, please, he replied.
She set the pencil down and adjourned to the kitchen for some oatmeal. She washed the dishes—what few they had—and changed into her now clean first set of clothing. She organized her things in the bedroom, folded the blanket on the couch, and folded a paper cube for Fennel to fetch before finally sitting down for her assignment.
It took her four tries to correctly Fold the first link of the shrinking chain, which frustrated her greatly, as Ceony was not used to doing something wrong more than once. Each link was made of two pieces of 4" by 5?" paper, which Folded together into a hook of sorts. Ceony had begun Folding the third link when she heard something tapping in the next room.
She glanced up. “Fennel?” she called.
But the paper dog sat licking his paws at the foot of the couch.
Ceony hesitated, a half-formed link in her hand, but she heard the tapping again, like a fingernail against a window: tap tap tap tap.
She stood from her chair, listening. It hadn’t come from the window.
Ceony wandered into the kitchen, and the noise rang out a third time, louder: tap tap tap tap. The vanity room.
She opened the door. The only light in the room came from a high window concealed by sheer curtains that made the air look blue. The space was fairly empty, save for a closet, a makeup stand and chair, and an antique full-length mirror in the far corner.
And in that mirror, Ceony saw the face of Grath Cobalt.
Gasping, she spun around, expecting the Excisioner to be standing behind her. No one was there.
“Looks like I got the right place,” he said from the mirror, his voice carrying a slight, ringing echo to it.
Ceony whirled back to the mirror, wide-eyed. Her ribs trembled with each beat of her very alert heart.
“You,” she said, eyes darting about the room. But he wasn’t there. He could only be seen in the mirror. She narrowed her eyes and dared to take a step closer. Grath grinned at her from the mirror’s smooth surface, his left cheek still burned from her Burst spell.
Calm, she told herself. Then, aloud, “How did you find me?”
Grath opened his hands and let his fingers flutter. “Magic,” he said. “Mirrors are eyes to anyone who knows how to use them.”
He held up the ornate makeup mirror Delilah had given her at the bistro. She had left it behind in her purse when she fled the restaurant. Had he somehow used it to find her?
Ceony didn’t respond; she folded her hands behind her back to hide their shaking. Staring into the mirror, past Grath, she studied his surroundings. There was an old, unpainted armoire, white blinds drawn over a sunny window, and the corner of a bed. If it was a hotel, it wasn’t a very nice one. Somewhere with an east-facing window. A Gaffer must be standing somewhere out of Ceony’s line of sight, for only a glass magician could enchant the mirrors Grath had used to reach her.
“Where are you?” she asked.
Grath laughed, then turned toward the bed, briefly revealing the unmarked door to his room. His image faltered for a moment as he mumbled something, then it expanded, revealing his body down to midthigh. He shut the makeup mirror in his hand and tossed it onto the bed.
The room seemed small, and Ceony hadn’t spied another magician. Wherever the Gaffer was hiding, Grath hadn’t given him orders to make a transfer to this larger mirror he now used.
“We never got to finish our conversation,” Grath said, his lips pulling back to reveal that feline smile. “You were about to explain a spell to me.”
Ceony’s heart pulsed in her throat. Her feet grew cold. Could Grath possibly be . . . but how? It was only possible for a magician to bond with one material.
“It’s you,” she whispered.
Grath raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
“Mirrors are eyes to anyone who knows how to use them,” Ceony repeated, her stomach swirling. “You’re . . . you’re not an Excisioner. You’re a Gaffer.”
Grath laughed, a hearty sound that would have shattered his mirror had it been just a little louder. “How astute of you,” he said. “Our little secret, hmm? A mistake I made a long time ago. But I want to remedy it, Ceony. In fact, I’m hoping the little spell you used on Lira might open a new window for me, if you’ll excuse the pun.”
“A window for what?” Ceony asked, sharpness leaking into her voice. “You can’t bond to blood, and I certainly won’t help you! Do you even care about Lira, or is power your only motivation?”
Grath scowled and stepped close enough to the mirror that his breath fogged the glass. “The first thing I’ll do with you when this is over is rip those flapping lips off your face, Folder. Lira and I had plans. We were going to get away from you and your self-righteous system, but you couldn’t let that happen, could you? I’m going to break whatever curse you put on her, and I’m going to make you my first test rat once blood is my domain.”
Test rat? Ceony stepped back from the mirror, standing just off-center of the room. “You’re serious,” she breathed, but she didn’t refer to the threats. Grath really did intend to break his bond to glass. But such a thing was impossible! Once a person formed a bond with a material, it couldn’t be undone. The oath said as much!
“Tell me what you did to her!” Grath shouted, his thick fingers clutching the edge of the mirror. “Tell me what strange magic you have, this spell that bridges materials!”
“Even if I could free Lira, I’d let you flay me before I let the secret slip!” she shouted.
A creaking sound to her right startled Ceony. When she glanced to the side, she spied Emery’s silhouette in the doorway, just out of sight of the mirror.
Grath didn’t seem to notice. “I can make you break that promise,” he said.
I have to keep him talking, Ceony thought, but before she could ask her next question, her mirror began to ripple, as though the glass was morphing into water.
Water . . . people could pass through water.
“Ceony!” Emery shouted. He threw open the door and pulled a Folded piece of paper from his long coat, but Ceony moved faster. She grabbed the chair by the makeup stand and flung it into the mirror, shattering it into hundreds of pieces. The glass rained over the floor, unmoving and solid. The pieces reflected only the ceiling and Ceony’s huffing shoulders.
Grath had vanished.
Emery lowered his spell, palmed it. “A blind box, quickly.”
Ceony pushed past him and into the living room. She ran to the desk, pulling four sheets of paper from its drawer. She Folded them, her flying fingers barely registering the tingling of the material. Emery had taught her the Blind Box spell two months after her arrival—a simple box that shut out everything beyond its paper walls, including light. Ceony had thought it fairly useless at the time, but it would prove efficient in nullifying Grath’s spell if he still held any control over the mirror’s shards.
She made four of them and hurried back to the vanity room.
Emery stood rigid, watching the shards. Ceony dropped down beside him and began to pick them up and shove them into the boxes. Emery crouched and helped her. One of the shards left a thin cut across her thumb, but she ignored it. Once they’d collected all the pieces, they shut the boxes’ lids and left them sitting on the carpet.
“Seven years,” Ceony said, catching her breath. “That’s seven years’ bad luck, you know.”
Emery sniffed. “I think Lady Luck will grant you a pardon in this case.”
“How much did you hear?”
“Enough,” he said. He coughed softly and said, “Grath Cobalt . . . a Gaffer. A few things make sense now. Strange. Hughes will want to know.” His voice sounded hoarse.
“Will he find us?” Ceony asked, staring at the boxes. Her fingers danced around their corners, checking her Folds for accuracy.
“No,” Emery said, and he coughed. “He shouldn’t know where we are, physically, if I understand mirror-hopping correctly. At least, I hope that’s the case.”
Ceony looked directly at the paper magician, finally noticing the redness of his eyes and puffiness around his jaw. He sniffed again, and barely any air made it through his sinuses.
“Goodness, Emery!” she exclaimed, standing. “What happened to you?”
Emery cleared his throat, but the action resulted in a fit of low coughs. Once he recovered, he grumbled, “Mrs. Hughes is a great lover of cats; unfortunately, this was unclear to me until I had already been exposed.”
He coughed again and covered his mouth, which is when Ceony noticed the hives on his hand.
Ceony’s own hand flew to her chest. “Magician Aviosky wasn’t joking when she said you had allergies. Oh, Emery, you look awful.”
“Thank you,” he wheezed.
Clucking her tongue, Ceony took him by the sleeve and led him into the living room, where she half-shoved him onto the sofa and ordered him to lie down. He looked even worse in the better lighting; a few pink hives dotted his neck, and angry red zigzags marred the whites of his eyes.
“We have,” he coughed, “a more important matter to deal with, Ceony.”
Unfurling the folded blanket, Ceony said, “And I will deal with it. I can send a bird, and there’s a telegraph downstairs. Grath isn’t going anywhere, and neither are you. My brother is allergic to alfalfa, and whenever he gets sick we have to treat it like a cold. He doesn’t get as sick as you are, though.”
Emery responded with a heavy cough.
Frowning, Ceony let the blanket fall over him and ordered him to remove his coat, which was doubtlessly covered in cat hair, then hurried into the kitchen to fill two glasses with water. She pulled the desk chair over to the couch and set the glasses on top of it.
“Drink both of these. It will help flush you out,” she instructed.
“I’m perfectly capable—” Emery began, but a wet and unpleasant cough cut off his words. Giving up, he reached for the first glass and downed it in five gulps.
Ceony returned to the kitchen and heated the stove to boil water—she didn’t have a chicken, but she could make him some vegetable broth, which had never hurt anyone. She glanced back into the living room, where Emery was gulping down his second glass of water. His neck looked even more swollen.
Ceony felt her blood drain to her feet. “Do I need to call an ambulance?” she asked. “Have you had to go to the hospital before?”
Emery shook his head. “Only as a,” he coughed, sniffed, “child. This will pass.”
Ceony chewed on her lip and stepped back into the kitchen. After searching all the drawers, most of which were empty, she found a thin dish towel and soaked it in cool water. Returning to the living room, she used couch cushions to prop up Emery’s head and wrapped the cool cloth just below his jaw, hoping it would alleviate the swelling. She then went to work at the desk, Folding and cutting snowflakes—a lesson she had learned in her first week as an apprentice.
The word “snow” enchanted them, but she gave them no direction for a falling pattern. Instead, she tucked them under the wet towel to keep it cool, then began braiding two paper bandages—the only solution she could think of for the hives.
She had learned how to make the bandages during the second month of her apprenticeship after accidentally walking in on Emery in the privy while he was trimming his hair over the sink. Her embarrassment at seeing the privy occupied, as well as seeing Emery shirtless, had startled her so greatly that she hadn’t taken the time to remove her fingers from the doorframe before slamming the door closed, all while shouting a profuse apology. She had nearly broken her right middle finger in the process, and Emery had crafted one of these bandages to hasten its healing.
She finished crafting the bandages and wrapped one around each of Emery’s hands, braiding the ends so they fit snugly. She then hurried down the switchback stairs rather than waiting for the lift, Emery’s protests bouncing off her back as she went. When she reached the long, olive-and-tan-tiled lobby, she hurried past a clay urn and a tall mirror to reach the receptionist’s desk. Ceony asked to use the telegraph and, after checking to ensure the woman was looking away, telegraphed Mg. Aviosky. She didn’t know how to reach Mg. Hughes.
grath contacted through mirror stop he is a gaffer stop alert hughes and contact us stop
That message would raise more questions than it would answer, but Ceony imagined Mg. Aviosky would arrive at the apartment by nightfall. Ceony could explain the situation more fully in person.
After taking the lift back upstairs, Ceony busied herself with preparations for the broth. It took about an hour, and for at least half that time Emery coughed and sniffled. His feline-induced ailment had settled down somewhat by the time Ceony brought the steaming bowl of soup to his bedside.
She set it on the chair and sat on the edge of the lavender couch, pressing a hand to Emery’s forehead.
“At least you don’t have a fever,” she said. “Well, I don’t think you do. I’d rather not test you the way my mother taught me.”
Emery laughed, some mirth shining through his red-veined eyes.
“You didn’t pet the cats, did you?” she asked.
Emery cleared his throat, twice. “Heavens no. I only spied one of them on my way out. By then I knew I was a dead man. I thought I had come down with a cold, at first.”
“How many does she own?”
“Four.”
“I think that’s two cats too many for anyone,” Ceony said. She sighed, then gestured to the bowl. “Drink this when you’re ready, but don’t wait too long. And I’ll get you more water.”
She refilled the glasses in the kitchen and set them beside the broth.
Emery watched her as she reclaimed her seat on the edge of the couch, by his hip. After a moment, he asked, “Why do you do all of this for me, Ceony?”
A flush crept into her ears. She leaned away and stirred the broth. “Don’t ask me that,” she replied, quiet. She watched little bits of carrot and potato churn in the soup. She took a deep breath, then another, waiting for the flush to recede. When she was confident that it had, she said, “You know why.”
“Ceony . . .” Emery’s voice trailed off, but he didn’t complete the thought, if he had intended to say anything more than her name to begin with. Ceony continued to stir the broth, which gave her something to focus on other than him.
A full minute passed before Emery spoke again.
He began with a sigh. “You’re my apprentice. I don’t . . . don’t think I need to remind you of that.”
“There’s no documented rule against it,” Ceony countered. The flush began to creep across her skin again, betraying her. “I checked.”
Emery rubbed under the wet cloth around his neck. He hesitated, perhaps concerned about choosing the right words. “Not all rules are written.”
“And you’re not one to follow rules.”
Ceony’s boldness surprised even her, and she dared not even glance at the paper magician to gauge his reaction. The air thickened and swirled around her like the vegetable broth, but instead of cooling, it seemed to grow ever hotter.
I’m his apprentice, she thought. As if he needed to remind her! And how could he possibly ask her why she did any of the things she did? She had confessed her feelings to him in the fourth chamber of his heart, after all.
She closed her eyes and pressed the back of her hand to her cheeks, willing them cool. Fine, she thought, letting the broth settle. If he wants just an apprentice, I’ll be just an apprentice.
Perhaps it had been foolish of her to expect anything more.
She handed him the bowl. “I’ve only done three links for that shrinking chain,” she said. “When you’re feeling well, I’d like you to inspect them. I’d rather not spend time constructing a flawed chain. And I have some reading to do. I’ll come check on you in an hour.”
Ceony stood and brushed off her skirt, then calmly fled to her room to read her book on origami behind a closed door, where no one but her would see that awful, vibrant pink that tainted her skin.
And, for the third time that week, she did an excellent job of staying calm. By the time she finished her textbook, only two tears stained its pages.