The Glass Magician (The Paper Magician Trilogy #2)(24)

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.