The Paper Magician (The Paper Magician Trilogy, #1)(63)

She took a kohl pencil from her makeup bag and carefully lined her eyes, then smudged some of the kohl between her fingertips and pinched her blond lashes to darken them. She thumbed a bit of rouge on her cheeks as well and changed into her second-best set of clothes: a navy-blue skirt that cinched just above her hips, and a peach-colored blouse with frilled collar, which she tucked into it. She considered, briefly, wearing her best clothing—a sage-green dress with short sleeves and slim fit—but she didn’t want to overdo it.

Content with her appearance—even confident with it—she stepped into Emery’s room to check on him. He was unmoved, but she thought his breathing sounded a bit easier.

She sat on the bed beside him and ran her fingertips through his dark hair, then traced her pinky finger over his brow. Felt his temperature. Normal. She fetched him some broth and carefully poured it bit by bit into his mouth. There was little for her to do beyond that.

Downstairs she made cucumber sandwiches and potato salad, despite doctor’s orders. Enough for two, but with Emery unchanged, she ate alone and stored the rest in the icebox for later. After suffering a few stomach cramps, she cooked sausage gravy, biscuits, and asparagus for dinner. Again she made enough for two and waited until eight o’clock. Emery didn’t wake, however, so she let the food grow cold while she fed him more broth and wiped his face and neck with a damp towel. She ate quickly—standing at the table rather than sitting—and afterward retrieved Pip’s Daring Escape from her bedroom. She pulled the chair from the library into Emery’s room, sat on it, and read the book with all the feeling and charisma she had. Images of the small gray mouse and his adventure through a cat-strewn garbage dump to retrieve a beloved toy played out in ghostly apparitions over Emery’s torso. Still, he didn’t wake.

Ceony washed her face, hung up her clothes, and went to bed late.

She rose with the sun the next day, bathed, and set her curling iron by the fire as she swept the front hall and dusted the front room, even picking up Jonto’s collapsed form to reach the windowsill. Back in the lavatory she curled her hair with a little more flare and fastened it with a tie behind her left ear, so that the curls hung neatly over her shoulder. After applying some kohl and rouge, she changed once more into her peach blouse and navy skirt. She skipped breakfast and got to work on her few pieces of dirty laundry.

Her white blouse—the one she had worn through Emery’s heart—was ruined, but the skirt only needed some patchwork to be wearable. She scrubbed it and hung it outside to dry beneath a clear, sunny sky and set to work on lunch. She made cucumber sandwiches once more, but ate them alone. For dinner she planned rosemary chicken.

She pulled the chicken from the icebox, a shriveled onion from a cupboard below the sink, and some dried rosemary that hung on a string opposite the dining room door. As she cut into the chicken breasts, however, her hands stilled as watery blood dribbled from the meat.

Lira froze . . . and never moved again.

She set the knife down and examined her hands, seeing blood where she knew there was none. Paper, she reminded herself. It was a paper spell, nothing more.

But paper illusions didn’t have any effect on real people, did they?

She bit her lip. She still hadn’t heard back from Mg. Aviosky. Did her old teacher suspect her? Had she even received the telegram?

She glanced into the dining room, to the stairs that led to the second floor, where Emery slept. What would Ceony tell him?

“This is nonsense,” she said aloud, snatching up the knife and cutting the chicken crosswise. She seasoned and breaded it and shoved it in the oven. The aromas of home cooking and the washing and hiding of the knife helped to soothe her.

Ceony checked on Emery, and though he truly looked just like a man taking a nap, he didn’t wake.

After dinner Ceony retrieved her bag and took Fennel to the library, where she sat at the desk and tried multiple Folds of paper to see if she couldn’t rebuild him herself. She was still too green, though, and the connections in his body and the crisp lines of each unique Fold confused her. Even if she had watched Emery create the pup, she didn’t think she’d be able to copy it. The spells were just too advanced.

Giving up and trying not to feel heartsick, Ceony browsed the books in the library until she found a novelette entitled The Barn Spider, which had line sketches every few pages for reference. She read it to Emery, but being unfamiliar with the tale, she couldn’t make a single illusion appear for him. Something she would have to practice.

That night, as she slipped The Barn Spider back onto its shelf, the telegraph began tap-tapping. Ceony wrung her fingers together until it finished, then read Mg. Aviosky’s words while biting her first knuckle.

checked coordinates stop no sign of lira stop cabinet investigating stop hope all is well stop

For some reason, the news that the others hadn’t found Lira did little to pacify Ceony’s nerves. If anything, it scared her even more.

It took several hours before she fell asleep, her thoughts lingering somewhere on the Foulness coast, replaying her confrontation with Lira over and over again. Pressing two fingers to her neck, she felt her own pulse, the poom of its PUM-Pom-poom too faint to detect.

She woke late the next morning, and went about her morning routine: curling her hair, applying her makeup, getting dressed, and doing chores.

For breakfast—or rather, brunch—she cooked bacon, eggs, and toast. Enough for two. After eating alone, she counted up what groceries Emery still had and determined she would need to go to the store soon. She’d prefer not to go alone.