The Glass Magician (The Paper Magician Trilogy #2)(26)

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?”