The Glass Magician (The Paper Magician Trilogy #2)(17)

“A flirt. An awful one at that, but somehow he attracted women who fell for his questionable charms,” Emery said, thoughtful. “I had a new one on my doorstep every week, or so it seemed. That boy would have taken six years to earn his magicianship at the rate he was going. But another reason our time was cut short was the timing . . . and, well, you already know enough about that.”

Ceony nodded, swallowing another yawn. She had only learned a snippet about Emery’s second apprentice from her journey through Emery’s heart; all she knew was that he had to be transferred because of issues with Lira.

Emery chuckled. “One girl who came by couldn’t have been a day out of secondary. Tall as Langston. Daniel was a rather short fellow and seemed put out by her visit, but I invited her in, thinking maybe it would dissuade him from handing out my address like Halloween candy—”

A jolt in the road startled Ceony awake; she hadn’t realized she’d dozed off, and perhaps Emery hadn’t, either, for he was still chatting away beside her. Her head rested against his shoulder, and she straightened quickly, a new flush burning her skin.

“And it was shrimp,” he said, shaking his head. “Who puts shrimp and sweet cream in the same dish? Certainly you’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“It . . .” Ceony blinked sleep from her eyes. “It sounds like a soup I’ve seen in Devonshire,” she said. “I don’t think—”

She squinted through the windshield of the vehicle. Was that a person on the road, just beyond the glow of the buggy’s lights?

The light fanned over him, and time stopped.

The man jerked his arm upward. The windshield didn’t shatter and Ceony heard no pistol fire, but the driver’s head jerked backward, spurting black blood over his seat and the windshield.

The driver slumped in his seat, falling against the steering wheel. The buggy’s headlamps pulled away from the road, illuminating plants, earth, and finally—to Ceony’s horror—the dark, churning water of the river. Emery gripped her shoulder, pressing his other hand against the ceiling to brace himself.

Time started again when the buggy hit the black water. Ceony jerked forward and grabbed the seat in front of her. Pain shot up her wrists. Darkness flooded the cab. Cold water pooled at her feet.

Snow-cold chills spread from Ceony’s chest into her limbs, freezing her solid. Her thoughts shut down. Her heart stopped beating. Her throat went dry. Her legs turned numb.

“No no no no no no no no no!” she cried, but her voice sounded from somewhere else, somewhere distant. Water poured into the buggy, climbing like thousands of chilled spiders up her calves, knees, thighs—

Emery pushed against the door as water gushed in through the buggy’s glassless window. The entire car slanted, its nose pushing for the river bottom.

Drowning. She was drowning. Tears poured down her cheeks, but she still couldn’t move, not even as the water climbed up her legs and over the seat, up her blouse.

“I’m going to pull you out,” Emery said, his words airy and quick.

“No no no . . . ,” Ceony muttered, wide-eyed, clutching to the upholstery with white knuckles. “No no no no . . .”

Emery grabbed her arms, yanking them away from the driver’s seat, and hooked them around his neck.

“Take a deep breath!” he shouted. “Hold on to me. Don’t breathe again until we’re out!”

The water climbed to her stomach, her breasts, her collar.

She started convulsing.

Emery cursed, inhaled deeply, and sealed his lips shut just as the water flooded above their chins, foreheads, crowns.

Ceony squeezed her eyes shut and dug her nails into Emery’s neck, clinging to the fabric of his collar. She moved forward, jerked, and felt the top of the buggy window scrape against her back and thighs.

The next thing she knew, darkness engulfed her. Everything was cold save for Emery’s neck and the burning in her lungs. She felt him kicking beside her, but the water . . . it didn’t end. It didn’t end!

And suddenly Ceony was seven years old again, falling into the Hendersons’ fishpond, thrashing for the surface but only finding handfuls of mud and silt. She couldn’t breathe!

And then the wetness broke and warm summer air touched her skin. Ceony sputtered and sucked in a hot breath, which scorched her throat like fire. She cleaved to Emery in the weightlessness of the water, like she was falling—

“Shhh, shhh,” Emery urged her. One arm was wrapped tightly around her torso, pressing her to him, while the other swam back and forth, treading water. Then he stopped moving, and they began to sink. Ceony cried out, but the hand gripping her waist shot up and covered her mouth.

Emery kicked and they floated once more, only this time Emery held a small plastic case in his hand. He used his teeth to open it. Inside rested a Folded piece of paper.

He pinched it in his mouth, dropped the plastic case, and grabbed the paper with his wading arm. The water started to pull them under, but Emery whispered “Conceal” and threw the paper into the air. Ceony watched it unfurl in the starlight, expanding until it hovered over them like an umbrella a few feet above the water.

Emery continued to tread, inching toward the shore, the Conceal spell following them as they went. Conscious thoughts trickled back to Ceony bit by bit through the remnants of her panic. The buggy, the water. How had she gotten to the surface? Emery?